


Fell Star, Ashen Heart

by fancywaffles



Series: An Azure Dawn [13]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (or at least the solving the mystery of), Background Relationships, Bisexual Claude von Riegan, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Crest Experiments (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Epic Friendship, F/F, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Gen, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mystery, Nerd Claude von Riegan, Post-Canon, Tragedy of Duscur (Fire Emblem), also some i avoided dying because it's my fic and i do what i want, spoilers for all routes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:02:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 42
Words: 148,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23015968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fancywaffles/pseuds/fancywaffles
Summary: Claude lost his purpose and drive when he gave up his dream. Almost six years later he finds it again in the form of a letter from Hubert detailing Those Who Slither in the Dark and their threat to Fódlan.Byleth is settled and happy in her life as Archbishop, wife to the King, and mother of two, but when Claude shows up he reignites the questions she's never had answered about who and what she is.Together they set off to solve the mystery of TWISTD.(or, hey teach, wanna build a sno--solve a mystery?)
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth, Dorothea Arnault/Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Linhardt von Hevring/Claude von Riegan, Mercedes von Martritz/Dedue Molinaro, My Unit | Byleth & Claude von Riegan
Series: An Azure Dawn [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1654411
Comments: 309
Kudos: 271





	1. Dance Partners

**Author's Note:**

> an attempt to bookend the loose ties left from the azure moon route in regards to TWSITD and also me screaming the entire first play through 'rhea ANSWER my questions!!' | spoilers for all routes, minus most of cindered shadows DLC (i will never give up my ability to feed dogs and cats)
> 
> (waffle_fancy on twitter & fancy-waffles on tumblr - i'm fandom old and very not hip)

Annette was singing a song in the courtyard to the children. Byleth leaned against the balustrade of the balcony and watched, smiling, as Valya stared with transfixed eyes for every word of whatever story Annette had strung together today. She could see Glenn, watching his baby sister, and counting his fingers against his palms, trying to learn the notes of the music. (Byleth needed to talk to Dimitri when he got back from Duscur, see if they couldn’t get him lessons in something musical… a lute or… really that was the limit of Byleth’s knowledge of instruments.) Then Annette shifted into something more dramatic, dangling her fingers out and making a shocked face, and both children giggled, Valya’s shrieking laugh echoing far enough that Byleth could hear it from her vantage point.

The Goddess’ Rite of Rebirth had gone well, Seteth had once again somehow talked her into it. And Byleth had once again resisted the urge to hide in the stone coffin that housed nothing and pop out and say boo to the celebrants. It was a warm summer day in Garreg Mach, but there was a breeze that cooled and promised Autumn’s return.

It had been almost six years (in two weeks, to the date) since the war and promised peace felt centimeters from their grasp. Nothing was perfect, but Fódlan was thriving, the border countries were playing nice, and Byleth hadn’t had to even look at the Sword of Creator since her daughter was born.

All in all, everything seemed finally calm, and Byleth felt as if she could finally relax… which was of course _exactly_ the moment she saw Claude von Riegan waving at her from the courtyard.

The Archbishop of the Church of Seiros leaned forward and just said, “Fuck.”

By the time Byleth made her way down to the courtyard, Annette was cheerfully chatting with Claude and her children seemed torn between suspicion for the man who had stolen their favorite entertainment and curiosity for this new engaging person.

“Hey, Teach,” Claude said as Byleth arrived. “Long time no see, huh? I mean, really long time, congratulations… a bit late, of course, my apologies.”

Byleth narrowed her eyes at him and he grinned even wider.

“Claude said that new artisan school we were talking about is actually run by _Hilda_ ,” Annette said, brightly, not noticing the staring contest. “Can you believe that?”

“Wild,” Byleth said. “Nice to see you, Claude,” she added. It _would_ have been nice to see him if she didn’t really really suspect he had a specific reason of being there and in Byleth’s experience whenever someone had a specific reason to seek her out after a long absence, it was never good.

“Mama? Who is that?” Glenn asked, tugging at her skirt and gesturing with his head towards Claude, as if he couldn’t see him do so. All the subtlety of his father, her son.

“An old friend from school,” Byleth replied, threading a hand through the mess of his ruddy blond hair. She loved his hair, it reminded her of Jeralt. “We haven’t seen him in a very long time.”

“Would’ve been great to catch up with your papa too,” Claude said, crouching so he wascloser to Glenn’s height. “Seems like he’s not here though.”

“He’s in Duscur,” Byleth said. She suspected Claude knew that already.

“With Do-do!” Valya said, or an estimation of what she said — her words tumbled together into each other and Byleth found she was usually the only one that knew what she meant, though Claude bravely nodded at her anyway.

“He bring flowers to it, right?” Valya asked her, the focus entirely changing for the two-year old, as Dedue had been introduced into the conversation and (much to Sylvain’s endless chagrin) was her current favorite.

“Yes, I’m sure he will,” Byleth said, and tweaked her nose. She softly touched her cheek too still warm from her joyous giggles at Annette’s song. Byleth swallowed the urge to grab the children and run from whatever this was.

“Terrible timing, could’ve been a full reunion. I guess you’ll have to settle for only me,” Claude said, standing up as he smiled that smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Byleth sighed and turned towards Annette, who was studiously observing their reactions. “Annette, I know you have class soon, do you think you could work the sad eyes and get Seteth to watch them for a bit?”

“‘eth!” Valya said excitedly, while Glenn scrunched his face up like he knew he was being taken away from the interesting stuff.

“I don’t think it’ll be that hard,” Annette said, with a laugh and scooped the princess up into her arms, laughing as she also laughed. She started singing again, at request, and from what Byleth could gather, some sort of explosion had happened at the sweets kitchen. Valya seemed immediately enamored, and easily distracted.

Glenn didn’t follow, staring at Claude, who was staring back with a raised eyebrow.

“Glenn,” Byleth said, in what Dimitri called her ‘lecture Sylvain during class’ voice.

“Ugh,” her son said, five going on fifteen, and dragged his feet in the grass as he followed his sister.

Byleth crossed her arms under her chest and stared at Claude.

“The suspicion hurts, Teach,” Claude said, hand on his heart. “Where’s the trust?”

“ _Please_ ,” Byleth said, “tell me that you have stopped world traveling and are here for a nice casual visit to see how everyone is doing.”

Claude’s smile looked a bit more like a grimace. “You mind… taking a walk? You know… outside the Monastery?”

“Why outside?” Byleth asked. It was fairly private where they were. “It’s not like we’re in the cathedral.”

“I have… important things to talk about.”

Byleth could have said no. She could have ignored all of this and walked back towards her children, spent the rest of the day playing with them and annoying Seteth, and then waited out the week until her husband was back. She could have lived a happy, ignorant life.

But that wasn’t, nor would it ever, be her.

“Are we going to need weapons for this walk?”

Claude laughed. “Ah, Teach. And here I was worried you changed.”

He was silent for the most part as they traversed the inner parts of the Monastery, walked through the marketplace, and then headed deeper into Garreg Mach, commenting on this or that in the reconstruction he hadn’t seen on the way in.

“The kids, very cute. Not surprising, but still, well done.”

Byleth couldn’t help the snort. “Well done?”

Claude shrugged. “As I said, seems a bit late for congratulations. I am surprised there’s not eight of them by now though.”

“Two’s more than enough,” Byleth said.

Two had been more than they’d actually planned after Glenn’s birth had gone so sideways and Valya was even worse. Byleth didn’t know if it was pregnancy in general, her, or her specific medical … situation that made it so rough, but she was fine with stopping where they were as long as she never had to go through four months of bed rest _ever_ again. “What about you?” she asked, knowing the real conversation wouldn’t happen until Claude felt like they weren’t going to be overheard.

“Ah, my free roaming lifestyle isn’t very conducive to children at the moment,” Claude said. “Maybe one day.” Then he made a face. “Probably one day.”

“Mm, I’m sure the Future King of Alymyra needs an heir,” Byleth said.

Claude gave her a sideways glance and a begrudged laugh. “Suppose that secret couldn’t stay contained forever after I was gone.”

“To travel the world, see the different borders, experience the lands,” Byleth said, in a light happy voice that was an imitation of Claude right before he’d handed Dimitri the Alliance and left all responsibility of the war to them.

“Hey, if I hadn’t left, there’d be a power vacuum and the nobles wouldn’t have tossed in so quickly.”

Byleth frowned, mostly because he was right.

“You’re very sour about me leaving, I notice.” Claude cocked his head, examining her with his sharp green eyes. “Or sour about me being back?”

“I’m … not very excited about whatever it is you’re here to say,” Byleth said. “I’m assuming it’s not good news?”

They must have walked far enough, because Claude stopped and turned towards her, completely serious. “I received a letter from Hubert von Vestra.”

“Hubert’s dead,” Byleth said. She’d been there when it happened, it wasn’t a pleasant memory.

“Yes, so imagine my surprise getting correspondence,” Claude said. He pulled out a sheaf of parchment, “it was dated to be sent out five years after the war.” Which meant he’d either gotten it late or sat on it for most of the year. “How he knew where to send it to, I don’t know, but…”

“But?” Byleth said, unable to conceal that her interest had been piqued.

Claude sighed and stared up at the sky, squinting towards the clouds where the wyverns were flying unhindered by riders. “The Savior King…huh?”

“I’m not following.”

“Dimitri,” Claude said, drawing his eyes back down towards her. “That’s what they call him and the unified Fódlan thing is going pretty well, I have to give it you both that the reforms seem to actually be helping border relations. From what I’ve seen since I’ve been back it’s … crawling towards better here too. Might actually move away from the entire broken system that creates division and outsiders one day.”

“Claude?”

Claude shook his head. “Sorry, Teach. I’m procrastinating, because I really want to trust you with this. I’m not sure who else I _could_ trust with this, but… can I trust you?”

Byleth wasn’t sure if he was asking himself or her, but she had an answer. “Gronder."

The fight had been… a wreck. There was no way to know who was fighting who once the thick of it started — the Imperial Troops had caused diversions and gambits that made it next to impossible to pick potential friend from foe. Byleth had somehow managed to keep it mostly separate and there hadn’t been a slaughter of potential allies amongst the fighting. On more than one occasion during the fight, she’d helped Claude’s troops out. It hadn’t been easy and she still had the scars to prove it. She’d still fruitlessly thought there was a way through it all at the time. That it wouldn’t have to continue into what felt like endless bloodshed.

She didn’t miss it.

Claude laughed, softly. “Yeah, I should’ve known you’d say that.” He sighed, and pulled out a small book from his pocket. “Maybe I should start with this.”

It took Byleth a moment, because it had been _so long_ since she’d seen it and she was absolutely sure that her father’s diary had been lost in the attack. She grabbed it from him. “What the _hell_ , Claude?”

“I only meant to borrow it for a few days,” Claude said, holding up his hands, as if that meant he didn’t have easy access to weapons. “And then you know… massive invasion to the Monastery and you disappeared for five years, so it got … a little waylaid.”

“Well thank you for taking another five years to return it,” Byleth snapped. Her fingers tightened on the leather binding.

“Did you read it?” Claude asked. “Before everything went to hell?”

He was giving her a very meaningful look, that clearly indicated he didn’t mean the love poetry and sonnets about her mother.

“Yes.”

“So is it true, you don’t have a heartbeat?” Claude asked.

Byleth had never really thought about it prior to reading the diary and never cared after that, but before her daughter when her son was small, he liked to listen to his father’s heartbeat, making the percussive thuds with his fingers on his own small chest—and he could never seem to find hers. And sometimes, though it wasn’t so frequent it haunted her, she woke to dreams of feeling it beat in her chest suddenly. It always sounded like death.

“What does this have to do with Hubert’s letter?” Byleth asked, knowing that answered his question enough.

“I’m trying to work up to asking how you feel about Rhea,” Claude said. “And I don’t know if you’ve noticed… but you really don’t look a day older than the first day I met you.”

The heartbeat didn’t bother her, this, however, was an extremely sore spot. One she tried desperately not to think about most of the time. Jeralt once said he’d lost track after one-hundred and the idea of it terrified her.

“Have I noticed if I’m likely going to outlive my husband and children?” Byleth asked. “Yes, Claude. I’ve _noticed_.”

The sympathy in his eyes, she couldn’t stand, so she turned away from it. She glared off into the distance. “I don’t know how I feel about Rhea. She hasn’t been the same since we rescued her from Enbarr.” She turned back towards Claude, trying to make sense of this. “Is the letter about Rhea?”

“Yes and no,” Claude said, irritatingly vague.

“Claude, I am going to knock your teeth out if you don’t get to the point.”

Claude took a step back.“You’ve changed, Teach. You were _much_ nicer at the Academy.”

“We both know that’s not true.”

She’d made him laugh. It hadn’t been intentional and it even seemed to catch Claude by surprise, but some of the tension between them evaporated.

“Here,” Claude said, and handed her the parchment he’d taken out earlier.

‘ _Should this letter reach you, it means that we, against all efforts, failed. You once spoke of a better world, so I am entrusting its fate to you. This world is not our own, it has been manipulated, and kept by those who are not human yet purposefully work the wheels of fate to dictate how we should be._

_The freedom you may think you have achieved is a lie. The threat of those that slither in the dark… I’m sure you must recall Monica and Tomas. Their allies yet live._

_They hold deep resentment against the children of the goddess and the people of the world, and they are biding their time until they can exact revenge._

_If left to their own devices, it is certain they will eventually bring unimaginable calamity and suffering to the world._

_I believe that Her Majesty will be victorious… Even still, I must plan for her defeat as well._

_Should you truly want that future, the future of Fódlan you claimed to hold, then I challenge you to rise to the occasion and surpass my estimation of you. It is your obligation and the only fitting tribute to all that Lady Edelgard sacrificed._

_Included in this letter is all the research I have on those who slither in the dark. Use it to end them and their war against the children of the goddess, who leave this world as victims to its knell.’_

Claude waited until she’d finished the letter, actually, he waited until she finished staring at the parchment after she’d finished the letter and handed it back to him.

She had always felt… had always known there was some piece of it all missing, not only about her, Jeralt’s death, and the secrets Rhea kept, but Edelgard’s focus and determination against all odds.

Even at the end…

“I’m sure you’ve guessed by now,” Claude said, drawing her back to the present. “That I didn’t immediately run back to show you this.”

“You finished his research?” Byleth asked, unsure what to make of all this.

“I am… progressing. There is a big factor that might make a difference, however, which is where you come in.” Claude took a moment to fold the parchment back up and place it inside his vest pocket. “The bit about the ‘children of the goddess’ well, I have had a few suspicions for a while about you know… Flayn and Seteth being dodgy about their age and relationship and Lady Rhea… being Rhea. I thought maybe she told you something?”

Byleth scoffed a laugh. “I wish. I’ve tried. She always feigns sleep and then Catherine excuses visitors.”

“Seteth?” Claude asked, hopefully.

“Seteth won’t tell me anything if Rhea doesn’t, because he doesn’t want to give me misinformation.”

She was _pretty_ sure Flayn didn’t know any details, but she also hadn’t seen Flayn in over a year since she’d gone off on that very vaguely detailed fishing expedition that had nothing at all to do with the fact that people were starting to notice she also looked exactly the same age as the day they’d met her.

“Doesn’t that bother you? Not knowing?” Claude asked. “That would drive me crazy.”

 _“Of course_ it bothers me,” Byleth said. “But there really isn’t much I can do about it. Why didn’t… why wouldn’t Edelgard have _told_ us this was going on? Dimitri talked to her. She could’ve—”

Claude gestured up and down, to the entirety of Byleth. “I can’t blame her. If she was suspicious of the church, you’re kind of the walking advertisement for it. With your hair that long now, I thought you were Rhea when I first got in.”

Byleth felt a chill in the pit of her stomach and the urge to punch him rose up again. “Well,” she said. “I don’t know anything. So I guess that’s all you wanted?”

“I want to know the truth,” Claude said. “And I don’t think I’m going to get that, by sharing this with every person who might have a connection to the big conspiracy that’s apparently been going on for hundreds of years. You said you read Jeralt’s diary,” Claude said, gesturing at her chest, where whatever lay in the space of her ribs where her heart should be stayed silent. “Don’t you want to know what it all means? What it meant. What Rhea _did_ that no one is telling you about?”

Claude had managed to keep an alliance of nobles pretending to play off each other and both sides for five years, while dangling the option of unification once it presented itself. He had prepared for almost every eventuality, including Dimitri’s help, and was probably a better overall tactician than herself.

He was also _really really_ good at talking people into things.

Byleth let out a very loud, very forced grunt.

“Was that a yes?” Claude asked.

“You know it was,” Byleth said, irritably. “I have… I have to settle some things here and Dimitri is back in Fhirdiad next week.” She wanted her children with him if she was going to do something endlessly stupid, like she suspected this was going to turn into.

“It can wait a week,” Claude said. She couldn’t read him perfectly, but she thought he seemed relieved. “A week seems like a lot of time… to maybe view some of those tomes that Seteth kept disappearing from the library as… unfit for the students?”

Byleth laughed, despite herself. “If you can find them, be my guest, but I’m pretty sure they’re mostly smut.”

“You never know, torrid lust writing from ancient times could have key details in the background,” Claude said, turning back towards the Monastery and the way they’d come. He reacted to her eye roll, by piling it on more. “The descriptions of the landscape, some reference to the cultural heritage of the busty goddess that Ignatz used to draw, it could all stack up to some significance if we find the right pieces.”

“Did you find the right pieces in my father’s diary?” Byleth asked.

Claude at least had the decency to look slightly ashamed. Slightly. “Some? A lot of it was sappy soliloquies about your mother and thoughts of the Blade Breaker’s parenting, like the perils of teaching a child fishing who would jump into the lake to go after the fish when the line broke.” He smiled a little. “I did _really_ like the part where you started to actively emote and warm up to people once you came to the Monastery.”

“Never had a chance to read that far,” Byleth said.

Claude winced a little and eyed her sideways as they walked. “Can I trust you not to tell Seteth any of this? And… maybe less than full details to Dimitri.”

“You want me to lie to my husband?” Byleth said, realizing immediately that Claude was fighting a laugh since she hadn’t even tried to say she wouldn’t keep it from Seteth. She… respected him and appreciated how much paperwork she could get him to do, and the children enjoyed his fables, but she wasn’t sure she trusted him beyond that. For as much as he’d said they were like family because of their hair and everything else she wasn’t privy to, it never truly felt like it.

“Not lie… leave out key details. This is more of a… knowledge gathering expedition, not a call in the battalions fight.” He smiled easily. “I only think that giving him too much information might make him worry more than necessary about his lovely wife who could absolutely handle herself. And we both know he’s a bit sensitive on the losing loved ones issue.”

“I’m not lying to Dimitri,” Byleth said, firmly, after a second of hesitation where she’d actually almost considered it. She’d need to learn _Silence_ if she was going to deal with Claude, his silver tongue was dangerous.

“Okay, fine, I get it,” Claude said. “I’d be happy to expound on the details for him as well. But this was clearly something Edelgard didn’t think she could trust with anyone, so I’m guessing that means the slither-ers could be anywhere. Or anyone.”

Byleth thought of Monica, shifting into Kronya, remembering the way she’d begged for help when she’d died — of Solon who’d been Tomas… they really could be anywhere.

“They need a better name,” Byleth said.

“It’s more catchy if you picture it in Hubert’s voice,” Claude said, and then did a stunning impression, “Those who slither… in the dark.”

Byleth shook her head. “There’s got to be something else we can call them.”

“Dance Partners?” Claude suggested.

They’d just come back up to the market proper, where the long structure of the Monastery was open and in clear view. It reminded her of their school days, the ball, and how Claude had been the first (of far too many) to insist she dance. It was the first time she’d been at a gathering like that and the first time she’d felt a part of something so frivolous and fun. He’d laughed with her at her footwork and admitted he hated the stuffy noble dances as well and they’d ruined the precision that had been established by proper dance partners who knew and cared about knowing what they were doing. They’d ended up on opposite sides of the battle field in what, to her, felt like soon after.

“Dance Partners,” Byleth agreed.

They walked back together, in companionable chatter, discussing things not to do with great conspiracies over the past five years. Claude particularly thought the image of her small daughter having the Blaiddyd crest was funny, especially when Byleth told him that their furniture didn’t agree. He told her a bit more about his travels, although it all felt like surface level talk. The plans of a better world that Hubert’s letter mentioned, were never once brought up. Even before this. Claude made himself scarce once they were close to the Monastery, saying something about checking out a lead on a second underground library.

When she made her way back to the room where her children were endearing and preying on Seteth’s patience, Byleth made sure to hug them both and kiss them until they were sick of it. Then, once they were settled in for a nap, she walked to her room, picked the first sharp object she saw (a dagger) and sawed through her hair until it was shorter than when she’d first arrived at Garreg Mach, over a decade ago.

_I thought you were Rhea when I first got in._

The pale green remnants fell around her. They were soft, silky, green, and looked nothing like her children or like when she’d been herself before she had truly joined with Sothis. No one had ever looked at her the same after that.

She swept up, put away the dagger, and then found a quiet spot to read the last few chapters of her father’s diary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> meanwhile, claude runs into seteth on the stairs and asks him how it feels to be a grandfather to royal heirs, distracting seteth enough to hide the fact that claude has a book halfway up his jacket


	2. Axe Throwing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri returns home and learns of the mystery that his wife has tasked herself with.
> 
> (or this is straight up dimileth marrieds fluff, i'm sorry)

Dimitri’s arrival at the castle was a day later than he expected, which meant his wife and children had already beaten him there, a fact made obvious when Glenn and Valya (running from their nanny) made their way towards him (judging by the woman’s state of distress and exhaustion, Dimitri guessed they’d been running for some time).

Dimitri knelt down so that he was closer to their level as they flung themselves at him. He laughed at the exuberance and returned it in careful kind. The tour around the Kingdom territories had taken him away from them much longer than he’d expected and it was wonderful to soak up their presence again. After a solid two minutes of pretending to understand all and not every other word that Valya excitedly pitched at him and enjoying that Glenn still liked to be hoisted up onto his shoulder, the two of them seemed to notice he was not the only one returned.

“Felix!” Glenn said excitedly, using Dimitri’s head as an armrest as he turned. “I learned how to throw an axe!”

“Did you learn how to aim?” Felix asked, with a blank expression, that belied his amusement.

“No,” Glenn said, shaking his head. “But I still hit stuff.”

“It’s inherited,” Felix said, shaking his head in a similar fashion. Dimitri couldn’t fathom if that was a dig at him or his wife, but it wasn’t as if Felix had any particular skill in distance combat.

“Ah,” the nanny said, finally having caught up and caught her breath, “Your Majesty, I am so sorry for not keeping a better eye on the children. We were headed upstairs when they saw your caravan arrive.”

“No need to apologize, Agnia,” Dimitri said. “I can hardly consider a better greeting upon my return.”He looked seriously at Glenn and Valya, one on his shoulder, the other hanging off his arm. “I expect this enthusiasm every morning from now on.”

Glenn laughed at him and Valya impatiently tugged his arm so that he’d move it in her preferred direction.He relented, tossed her only a little to get that joyous laugh he loved so much, and then brought her close and kissed her sunflower hair again.

“What did you do?” Felix said, and it took Dimitri a moment to realize he was talking to Byleth, walking towards them at a much slower pace than the children had.

Byleth had… much shorter and much less even hair than the last time he saw her. She picked at it nervously. “I cut it. Hello to you too, Felix.”

“Cut it with what?” Felix asked and judging by the nanny’s turned head and slight cough, the ill opinion appeared to be shared. “A dinner knife?”

“I’ll cut you with a—” Byleth started and then wisely stopped, looking at Dimitri and the children. “It’s… I felt like a change.”

“It looks weird,” Glenn said, quite unreasonably, pleased when Felix nodded his agreement.

“They have scissors for a reason,” Felix said, with an irritated scoff.

Byleth put her fingers up to her newly shorn hair and looked over at Dimitri. It hardly mattered to him. If anything he loved that he could see more of her face.

“I like it,” he said, smiling. “You said it’s been too much to upkeep.”

“I did say that!” Byleth said, beaming at him. He wasn’t sure if it was the compliment or the fact that he’d helped her win an argument with Felix, but he found he didn’t care when she smiled like that. He drew her into his arms, still filled with their children, and kissed her until Glenn made offended noises and demanded to be put down.

Byleth laughed and then (going up on her tiptoes) kissed Glenn, which he also objected to.Dimitri did as he wished and set him down, however.

“Can I show Felix my axe throwing?” Glenn asked them, sparing a glance for his nanny, who likely had been taking him to do something more educational given the time of day.

“Nope,” Sylvain said, popping out of literally nowhere, it was as if he’d warped. Even Felix jolted a bit, as his husband threw an arm around his shoulders, “It’s been one month for you, three months for me, my axe throwing first, kiddo.”

“Please don’t start calling it that,” Dimitri said.

“No promises, Your Majesty,” Sylvain said, incredibly focused on his arm around Felix drawing him close, and practically manhandling him to go in the other direction, and perfectly avoiding the elbow that Felix threw at him.

“Fine, _fine_ , you animal,” Felix said, but looked more pleased than he was letting on. They both disappeared in whatever direction Sylvain had come from, fairly quickly.

“Can I show you my axe throwing?” Glenn asked Dimitri.

“I should be insulted that I’m second choice, I’m your father after all,” Dimitri said, but he was too happy being around all of them to do anything but smile.

“Yeah, but Felix is good at that kind of stuff,” Glenn said, then quickly added, “But I wanna show you too.”

“I suppose…” Dimitri started, but his wife interrupted.

“Not a chance,” Byleth said, she looked like she did in the classroom (and on the battlefield).“You can show whoever you want _after_ your writing lessons.”

“But they’re so boring!” Glenn objected, as if that was enough of a rebuttal. Dimitri saw his point, but he’d always been bad at denying his children any request, which was not a quality Byleth tended to appreciate and he certainly wasn’t going to side against her even if he also recalled those lessons not being particularly engaging.

“And the sooner you start them, the sooner they’ll be over,” Byleth said.

She often commented on the fact that neither of the children particularly took after her, but Dimitri couldn’t help but see the similarities as his son and wife stared at each other with stubbornly blank expressions.

“Ugh,” Glenn said, losing, and then trudged toward his nanny, who breathed out and took his hand.

“I was also taking Her Highness for a nap,” Agnia said, patting Glenn’s hand consolingly.

“‘m not tired,” Valya declared, surprisingly coherent.She wrapped her small arms around Dimitri’s neck, as if to prevent being removed.

“We can take care of it,” Dimitri told her, as he hoisted Valya up a bit higher so she wasn’t choking him. “Thank you,” he added, dismissing her.

Glenn trudged off with the walk of someone headed to an execution, but the farther he got the easier his pace seemed. She was very good at her job, even if they could outrun her.

Byleth was looking at him, her expression unreadable. Once she met his gaze, however, she smiled and it brightened up the room. They’d done their best to not spilt their time too much, but duties required it more often than Dimitri would have liked.

He brought the hand not holding their daughter up, through his wife’s hair and rested it on her cheek, enjoying the immediate softness as she leaned into it and closed her eyes. Valya mumbled something happily at his side, a one-sided conversation with herself which absolutely did not sound tired at all. He rubbed her back in an effort to prove that wrong. During times such as these, he wondered how he had ever pleased the goddess enough to deserve this happiness, especially after all he’d done, but he tried to keep those thoughts aside and not let them darken brighter moments.

“Did you really use a dagger?” he asked.

Byleth looked at him, suddenly hesitant. “You don’t like it.”

“You look beautiful as always, beloved,” he said, correcting her, pleased by the way he could still fluster her. “I’m only wondering if there was some urgency in the method of cutting it or if that is a carryover from your childhood as a mercenary.”

Byleth laughed, but didn’t enlighten him. “It’s more practical this way, I should’ve done it ages ago.”

“Thankfully, there haven’t been many reasons to have practical hair,” Dimitri said.

Byleth glanced away at that and threaded her fingers through his own, taking his hand to draw him forward. “We should go rest quietly in a dark room that won’t make us tired at all,” she said, mostly to Valya.

“‘m not tired,” his daughter said again, rubbing her fist into her eye.

Dimitri followed his wife, gently swaying his daughter in a familiar fashion that might draw her closer to sleep so they wouldn’t be cursed with a cranky toddler with the Blaiddyd Crest this evening. They took Valya to her rooms, finding it difficult to detach her from Dimitri’s neck, which he had little enthusiasm for assisting in. Finally, they got her down and walked, silent and careful, towards the door where her nursemaid was stationed, sitting her chair and reading a book.

Once they had made their escape, Dimitri took full advantage of having both arms free and drew Byleth into a long kiss.

“Can I show you _my_ axe throwing?” she suggested, smiling, once they broke apart.

“We _cannot_ start calling it that,” Dimitri said, with a laugh, as he was already following her towards their own rooms.

Byleth shrugged one shoulder. “Lance throwing?”

“You’ve spent too much time with Sylvain,” Dimitri groaned.

She merely laughed at him and tugged him towards her once the door was shut, unclasping his cloak and tossing it aside. “I missed you,” she said. “I told Claude you were going to be back yesterday.”

“Claude?” Dimitri asked, drawn from his attention of sliding his hands to her waist.

“Um, yes,” Byleth said and immediately went to work on undoing the faulds at his waist, sliding her hands in a not unpleasant fashion to unhook his codpiece from his armor. “He came by the monastery last week with… some information.”

“Some information?” Dimitri asked, curious, but also incredibly susceptible to her current distraction techniques and efficient ability to disrobe his armor.

“Oh you know how Claude is, he found a mystery and is trying to solve it…”

“A mystery?” Dimitri asked, finding that with shorter hair, his wife’s neck was much more accessible, so it was mostly said into it as he kissed her there.

“Mm,” Byleth said, pleased, and tugged him by his now freed and loosened breeches towards her as she walked backwards towards the bed. “It was a letter from Hubert…”

Dimitri stopped what he was doing. “A what?”

Byleth was most decidedly not making eye contact and instead, trying to unhook the bulk of his chest piece from the side. “A letter… post-dated so it could come after the war… about … a potential threat in the background that we didn’t know about. Could be nothing,” she added, dropping his cuirass to the floor with a thunk and then working on his arms.

A letter from Hubert von Vestra, this far out after the war was finished, about a potential threat. Dimitri grabbed Byleth’s arms, still in the process of trying to undress him. “Please enlighten me, specifically in regards to the ‘potential threat’ aspect of this.”

Byleth sighed and walked towards the bed by herself, and sat on it. Then she told him of an apparent conspiracy involving an underground society (that she and Claude were referring to as ‘Dance Partners’ for some reason) set in a secret war against descendants of the Goddess. He startled himself out of the fugue of this information, as he took a step forward and the effect of Byleth’s earlier work meant the other half of his armor fell off.

She looked at him sheepishly. “It could be nothing.”

“Or it could be… why El was so insistent on…” Dimitri felt himself trail off. He sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. It was not something he often cared to think on, even if it, like most other things found their way to him in the dead of the night, or in quiet moments where he had his guard down, or really any time if he wasn’t careful. The regrets of the past were too many to constantly relive, but sometimes it was difficult to not think of what mistakes he made and how if he’d done something differently it all could’ve come around for the better.

Or perhaps worse, which was why he tried not to think on it.

“Dimitri,” Byleth said softly.

“I’m fine, beloved,” Dimitri said. “This is… certainly a mystery. Why exactly did Claude bring this to you? Does he think these people are here?”

“They could be anywhere,” Byleth said. “We don’t know enough about them or any of it. It could be a very elaborate posthumous prank for all we know, but…” She cleared her throat. “I was… thinking it might be worth it to visit Rhea in the Red Canyon again, maybe see if she knows anything?”

“That seems… less than safe, considering all you’ve told me,” Dimitri said.

“I can take care of myself,” Byleth said. “And it’s not a mission or anything serious. It’s me going to bother Rhea and Catherine, which I have done many times before.”

“And you’re planning on bringing Claude?” Dimitri asked and then mulled it over in his mind for a moment trying to ascertain exactly what was bothering him. Once he discovered it, he frowned. “And should Rhea provide you with this information you plan on following the lead wherever it takes you?”

Byleth looked at him blankly, she reminded him of a cat frozen in surprise as it was caught eating off the table in the dining hall.

Then she started undoing her top.

“That is a very temporary distraction,” Dimitri said, although it was certainly an effective one.

“Yes, very temporary,” she agreed, sliding the top of her clothes completely off, leaving her half naked on the bed, staring at him. “But is it working?”

It had been an entire month… and _goddess_ if she wasn’t still as beautiful as the first time he’d seen her like this.

“You do not engage in fair combat, beloved,” Dimitri said and pounced on her.

Byleth laughed and carded her fingers through his hair, pulling him down into a kiss. She was warm and sweet and entirely too distracting. By the time they were finished, Dimitri was pliant and susceptible to suggestion.

Dimitri stroked his fingers down the bare skin of her back, tracing over scars he knew intimately by their origin or had explored in detail after.

“It’ll be fine,” Byleth said, happy and sated and entirely perfect. “I won’t be gone that long.”

“How long is not long?” Dimitri asked and Byleth kissed a spot on his collar bone in response. He sighed. “Can I at least ask that you bring more than Claude with you?”

“I can take care of myself,” Byleth said again.

“I am more than well aware of that,” Dimitri said, “but you also work wonderfully with units.”

Byleth rested her chin on his chest, and gazed up at him. “Who would I have to take to make you worry less?”

“Myself,” Dimitri said. “But that’s not likely to happen.” Even if it weren’t impossible to step away from the Kingdom days after a tour, he wouldn’t leave the children here especially after the information she’d told him. “Some of the knights.”

“We’re trying to be subtle,” Byleth said, sounding more like when she commanded them in battle, than his wife. “If this is what it sounded like, it could be a lot deeper and bringing more attention to it with a large group isn’t going to make me safer.”

Due to his current state, he felt less compelled to argue with her (which had clearly been her plan) and went straight for the compromise.

“Ingrid,” Dimitri said. “I would feel better if you took Ingrid.”

“Oh, that is going to drive Claude _nuts_ ,” Byleth said, grinning at him.

“Yes, I had considered that as well,” Dimitri said. He respected Claude and had no ill will towards him… except a little for this current situation. He closed his eye, still tracing the skin on her back. “I truly hate this.”

“I know,” Byleth said, softly. He felt her shift and move up his torso, until he could feel her breath against his cheek. “I want answers,” she said softly, as if it were a secret. “I know that’s selfish, but…”

Dimitri opened his eye and looked at her, verdant eyes staring back at him, mournfully wide and sad in a way he didn’t like to see. “It’s not selfish,” he said. “I wouldn’t mind answers myself, even if I try not to tear things apart looking for them.” Anymore.

She leaned forward and rested her forehead against his own, nuzzling her nose against his, intimate and soft in a way others rarely saw her. “I’ll be back before you know it,” she said, like a promise.

Dimitri took in a deep breath, drowning himself in the scent of her while he had it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> meanwhile, the palace servants mention how relieved they are the royal couple & duke fraldarius's rooms are soundproofed


	3. Detour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude and Ingrid get along _wonderfully_ and Claude takes them all on a detour to pick up his research partner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm @waffle_fancy on twitter if you would like to scream about fire emblem
> 
> I managed to resist titling this chapter 'justice for bi claude' but it's there in spirit
> 
> also shout out to [this fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22742779) by houseofthestars for making me love the idea of linclaude

Claude had to hand it to Teach. She was truly a visionary when it came to revenge.

“Interesting to see how little change you managed in such a long period of time,” Ingrid said, it was the fifteenth dig since she’d arrived to accompany them on this expedition.

“I could say the same for yourself,” Claude said. He had tried several tactics to get Ingrid off his case, but in the years that had passed she’d only gotten more stubborn and nitpicky, how that was possible… baffled him.

Ingrid let out a harsh breath through her nose, it sounded distinctly like a noise the pegasus she was riding would make. Teach had the nerve to look amused from her seat behind Ingrid. It was a good thing she hadn’t come up on Eira, Claude would’ve made his wyvern toss her off for this.

“At the very least you could have presented yourself to His Majesty before we left,” Ingrid said.

“I figured the covert aspect of the mission might be ruined by me walking into the palace and shaking hands with the king. Seems… a little like it might draw attention.”

Ingrid shook her head, tightening her reign on her pegasus and looking ahead. “Why are we headed in this direction? I thought we were going to the Red Canyon.”

“We are, just need to make a quick detour. It’s on the way. Don’t worry.”

“Detour?” Ingrid asked, although her way of asking felt like the warning before she knocked you in the head with her lance.

Teach was definitely fighting a laugh.

Claude mouthed, ‘I hate you’ at her, while Ingrid was looking in another direction. Teach, to her credit, mouthed back ‘diary’ and he couldn’t argue. It wasn’t like he’d meant to keep such a critical piece of history from her father… it was just… really really interesting and there had been a lot of extremely urgent things to worry about at the time.

If anything, Claude should have been commended for giving it back. He never would have been in this situation if he hadn’t.

He pictured a nice peaceful ride, alone, maybe only with Teach. Making their way towards the Red Canyon, with not a bicker in sight. Ah that was nice.

For the two seconds it lasted.

“ _Claude_ ,” Ingrid said. “Why are we taking a detour?”

“Picking up a friend of mine. He’s been helping me out with some of the research. Don’t worry you’ll find things to complain about with him too.”

Audible laughter from Teach.

“Don’t encourage him, Your Grace,” Ingrid muttered, still loud enough for Claude to hear, although he wasn’t entirely sure _she_ knew that.

“Where exactly are we headed?” Teach asked. She’d been scanning the landscape, but he wasn’t sure she had the eye for it since he couldn’t recall seeing her on a flier much.

“It’s a little inn, Thunderbrew, small place, over by the valley between Charon and Daphnel. Pretty good mead, actually. The wine, I would leave alone. It’s _definitely_ not made out of grapes.”

“I don’t think drinking is what we should be focused on,” Ingrid said, stuffily.

“So,” Claude said, loudly and with force. “How _have_ you been, Lady Galatea — or have you officially taken up the Countess role? I’m so behind in these things.”

Teach gave him a look that said she didn’t believe him and he responded with a face of total innocence.

“My father is still the Count,” Ingrid said. “I’ve been splitting my time between Galatea and the capital, if you must know.”

“Any sprightly rugrats running around, or are Teach and Dimitri the only ones who’ve started the next generation?”

He’d already known she had children and as suspected it softened her face a bit. She was so much prettier when she didn’t look like she was about upend him with a lance. Although sometimes she pulled that look off too. If it wasn’t so annoying.

“We have five children,” Ingrid said, cheerfully. “Two girls and three boys.”

“That is… quite a collection,” Claude said, genuinely impressed. The last he’d heard she and Dorothea had three.

“Yes, well,” Ingrid said, and he must have hit some sort of sore spot, because she blushed a little.

A better man would have let it go. But Claude always tried to be the best of men, who would absolutely not.

“How _long_ exactly have you been married?”

Ingrid huffed out that annoyed breath again, which meant she knew what he was getting at (which made him smile), and flew ahead of him.

“You don’t know where we’re going!” Claude called out, laughing.

Flying, the trip didn’t take too long, they’d probably have been camped out at least three nights if they’d gone on horseback. As it was, by the time they came to the Thunderbrew, it was around time to give Eira and whatever the beast that was able to bore Ingrid was named, a break.

“I’ll stand guard and tend them,” Ingrid said, mostly to Teach.

“It’s an Inn, you don’t need to stand guard,” Claude replied anyway. “And be nice to my wyvern.” He patted Eira’s creamy white flank. “She’s a very good girl.”

“I’m sure she is,” Ingrid said. It was hard to tell if she meant it or not, but he had faith that she’d at least tend to the basic needs, even if she wouldn’t sing Eira the drinking water song while she got her settled. Sometimes it was like Claude was the only kind soul in the world.

Speaking of which. “I was going to offer a nice braid in that haircut of yours, but consider the offer rescinded,” he told Teach.

It did look like someone had cleaned it up a bit while she was at the palace. He almost felt bad that clearly his comment about her looking like Rhea had caused it. Almost. The influence that implied made him too pleased with himself to feel anything else.

Teach also looked pleased with herself. “So who is your research assistant?”

“I wouldn’t call him an assistant, more of a… temporary partner,” Claude said. There were a few things he couldn’t exactly nail down from Hubert’s research himself and deciphering puzzles had always been his speciality, so not being able to had really thrown him. Luckily, he knew a variety of very smart people and one of them was actually free. Or left a well paying position at the Kingdom (formerly Imperial) Crest Studies Program without giving them notice.

It could be either way. Claude preferred in this case not to know. Plausible deniability always came in handy.

“Aren’t we going inside?” Teach asked as they made their way around the back of the Inn. They’d set off fairly early so it was closer to evening than actual night.

“I’d bet money he’s out back,” Claude said. And was proven right, as they walked around the corner to the grassy grove behind the Inn. Linhardt was sprawled out against a tree, a book covering his face, snoring lightly.

“Linhardt?” Teach asked. Claude couldn’t read her expression which drove him nuts.

“Is there a problem with that?” Claude asked. He hated asking questions he didn’t already kind of know the answer to. It put him off balance and on guard.

“No… it’s—” Okay now Teach looked uncomfortable. “I don’t really think any of the former Black Eagles are going to want to talk to me, let alone help me with something.”

“It’s fine,” Claude said, now that he understood her. “It was a complicated time where many of our allies and enemies used to eat meals in the same dining hall. If there’s one person that won’t be bothered, it’s Linhardt.”

They made their way over towards him and Claude kicked his boot, making Linhardt awaken with a snorted breath. “I paid for a room—you don’t have to—oh, Claude, you’re back. And the Professor as well.” The book had slid off his face, there were small bits of ink that had transferred onto his cheekbone. “Or, the Archbishop, do you mind if I just call you Professor? Learning new titles is tiring.”

“You wouldn’t be the first,” Teach said. “Be my guest.”

“Excellent,” Linhardt said. He looked down around himself and then sighed, like it was the worst thing in the world to get up and they should be grateful he was, before standing. “I’m not quite sure where I left off, but I think I’ve found some leads on deciphering what the symbols mean.”

“Really?” Claude was intrigued, but he was sure leaping into a full discussion of their progress so far would either bore or make Teach suspicious so he reigned in the impulse.

“I’m surprised you wanted to help,” Teach said, though it didn’t sound like a dig.

“Oh well,” Linhardt said, folding the book under his arm and picking up a few papers that had fallen onto the grass, Claude grabbed a couple up for him and he smiled back. “I was getting bored with crest research — there were no new angles after I helped Lysithea remove hers.”

“You can remove crests?” Teach asked.

“Now we can,” Linhardt said. “Her case was a particular one. According to some of the research I’ve done, I _think_ Edelgard might have been in the same sort of test group. It would explain her rush to push plans forward, she likely didn’t think she had much time.”

Completely unaware of how devastating that blow hit, Claude noted. Teach looked off into the distance, her entire body had gone a little stiff.

“This, however,” Linhardt continued, “this opens up all sorts of new theories and possibilities. If there’s a secret society with more advanced capabilities that know new ways of manipulating and creating crests, then that’s worth getting up for.” He scoffed. “Better than Hannerman focusing on the singular aspect of crests and how to use their power. Exhausting working with him. Although, not a bad fisherman.”

“We think we might be able to find a few clues at the Red Canyon, of this millennia old fight between the Dance Partners and the people who lived there,” Claude said. “While you and I talk to Rhea.”

That got Teach to turn around. “You and I?”

“You said she hasn’t talked to you before. Might as well have some charming back up to help out.”

“I’ll put a braid in your hair,” he added, as a sweetener.

Teach scoffed, but she smiled a little and shook her head. “Couldn’t hurt, I guess.” She turned towards Linhardt. “What do you think you’ll find at Zanado?”

Linhardt sighed. “You knew it was named Zanado already? That could’ve saved me wasting the time on research for it.”

“Sorry, Lin,” Claude said. “That’s a new one to me. How’d you know that, Teach?”

Teach looked cagey. Usually she was good at hiding it, but not at the moment. “Rhea told me… a while back, we ran into some trouble with some beasts there. It was a long time ago.”

“Interesting,” Linhardt said, although Claude suspected his interest was for different reasons than Claude’s own, “Rhea knowing the name of an ancient city does add more weight to my hypothesis.” He paused and gestured to Claude. “Well, _our_ hypothesis.”

“Which is?” Teach asked.

“If our Dance Partners are after the Children of the Goddess,” Claude said, “there’s some respectable candidates there. Plus there’s the whole weird business with Flayn looking fairly similar to depictions of Saint Cethleann, a crest she happens to have and share with Lin here.”

“So you think you’re a Child of the Goddess?” Teach asked, confused.

“We can’t discount anything,” Linhardt said, “but no, I do think that these… did you call them dance partners?”

“That’s the code name we decided on,” Claude said.

Linhardt looked at him for a moment, with that look that could’ve meant Claude was a very loud bird outside his window ruining a nap. Then he glanced back to Teach. “I believe that if they are the same people who experimented on Lysithea and likely Edelgard, then they know of a connection between crests and blood that goes beyond what crest studies have learned so far. It might be related to direct bloodlines from the Goddess. It's possible the ten elites said to be gifted their crests, already had them from being her children and the history was clouded after.”

“And… with Flayn, Seteth, Rhea, and…” Claude paused and tried to land it lightly. “Yourself, not aging as quickly as us regular folks…”

“We have blood from the goddess?” Teach asked but she didn’t seem like she was getting it.

“Potentially,” Linhardt said, “ _if_ the goddess had blood. Mostly, I think that being a more direct descendant like Flayn would generate a major crest of Cethleann, while I have a minor crest being more indirect… as I can trace my family genealogy back far enough to establish none of them were divine relations.”

“Plus,” Claude said, trying to stifle his excitement a little, but being this close to the truth was intoxicating. “Leonie mentioned, among a million other things she mentioned about Jeralt, that he got some sort of transfusion from Rhea and that’s why he was so long lived.”

He realized he could have phrased the last part a little better after he said it. Luckily Teach didn’t seem to take it personally and was frowning in concentration, like she was weighing the different pieces. “Maybe…”

Maybe was enough encouragement for Claude. “Which is why getting confirmation from Rhea would help solidify this theory and lead us to our Dance Partners.”

Linhardt yawned loudly and stretched. “We aren’t heading out right away, are we? You interrupted my nap, so I might actually go to sleep in a predictable cycle.”

Teach looked back at the Inn and then shrugged. “I guess we can head out in the morning, if they have any rooms. It’ll be easier than setting up camp at the Oghma mountains.”

“Very good,” Linhardt said. “Sounds perfect.” He was already headed past her, probably to go to his own room, for either sleep or research. If it was the latter, Claude really wanted to follow him.

But first things first. “You okay, Teach?”

She looked back at him and shrugged. “I’m trying to imagine Rhea transferring the blood in and out of a baby and if that is what she did or not. It sounds… wrong. I don’t know, I don’t think that would…”

“Would?” Claude prompted. “We’re not going to get to the bottom of this if you’re holding something back.”

Teach sighed and stuck her hands into her pockets. She stared up into the sky, still dimly lit as the sun had only begun to set. “Sothis, the Progenitor God, the Beginning. I don’t think she would’ve been fused with me if it was as simple as a blood transfusion.”

Claude wondered if this is what being seconds away from fainting felt like. “Fused with the _Goddess_?”

“I haven’t told anyone this,” Teach said, looking at him and then grunted. “I’m not sure why I’m telling you, but yeah. I… always had her around. Even when I was a kid, but something changed at the monastery, I don’t know if it was being around more people my age, or the monastery itself, or…” She sighed. “I wasn’t a normal kid, which you know because you read my father’s diary.”

“True,” Claude said, only to keep her going. He remembered the long series of passages of Jeralt trying to figure out how to deal with a baby that never cried, a child that never laughed and rarely smiled, how to deal with nightmares and whether or not his kid even liked him. It was tough reading it, although it seemed obvious to Claude, even before he’d gotten to the end of it, that she did and she had.

“I didn’t…” Teach crossed her arms under her chest. “I felt things. I’ve always felt things, but sometimes everything was fuzzy, like I was watching it as an outsider. I could react to things, work through the motions, but I didn’t have any interest in the things normal kids did. I _loved_ my father,” she added. “But, I didn’t understand, or I couldn’t express it in a way he understood until…” her voice cracked a little and she turned away from him, hiding the obvious tears.

“Hey,” Claude said, and put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay.” She sniffed loudly and nodded her head. “I’ve luckily never lost a parent, so I don’t know how to… look, it’s clear to me, he knew you loved him the best you could and he definitely loved you and that’s even without reading his diary. You could see him walking around the monastery beaming about you. It drove Leonie nuts. She would’ve killed for that attention.”

Teach snorted. “Yeah. She really didn’t like me. Every time I tried to talk to her, I never gave her a strong enough praise of his abilities.”

“She had the back of her whole village on her shoulders,” Claude said. “It created a bit of a competitive streak.” He’d used that to his advantage during the war. Leonie was a beast on a steed and knew how to motivate her troops and rally the least savory of them into a good gambit.

Teach wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and looked back at him. “Sothis was a very annoying, very critical, very… wonderful person. I don’t know what Rhea wanted to do, or why she did it, but Sothis said I should do things for myself and make my own path. Maybe that means it wasn’t actually her… I don’t know.”

“Maybe it means that might actually be a goddess worth looking up to,” Claude said. It was the first time anyone had really ever said anything about the goddess of Fódlan that had sounded even mildly appealing. He didn’t really subscribe to the Almyran gods either, but at least he understood the virtues of some of them.

“Don’t tell Linhardt,” Teach said, but it sounded like she was begging a little. She really must not have shared that with anyone else before. “At least until we know more.”

“I’m pretty good at keeping a secret,” Claude said, which wasn’t a yes or a no, but he didn’t like to stick himself into promises he might not keep. For now he didn’t see any harm in it. He squeezed her shoulder. “Come on, we should let Ingrid know the plan before she marches over here and accuses me of inappropriately addressing,” he drew out his words into the snobby aristocrat genre, “Your Grace.”

“Yeah, I think we’re going to need separate rooms for you two,” Teach said, mouth twisting in neither a smile or a frown.

“I’ll bunk with Linhardt, you two get a room, and maybe some drinks… loosen her up a bit. _Please.”_

Teach laughed lightly and shook her head, walking past him. “I want that braid tomorrow.”

“You got it,” Claude promised. He watched her walk off and tapped his fingers against his leg, balancing the information he had just gotten with they information he already had. There was still some piece missing. It was as frustrating as it was exciting, as long as he was able to figure it out.

He wasn’t sure when Hubert had heard of his hopeful world, the better Fódlan, but he never really let go of that dream. It had been hard when the crushing defeat of two much larger armies had made the decision painfully clear for the Alliance’s survival and his own. He’d felt like that dream was dust, but now this seemed like it might lead back to it. If they could figure this out, it might put people on a more equal footing… lead to trade and travel and breaking barriers and walls.

Claude shook his head. There was no point in dreaming at the moment. He could save that for later.

He made his way to the Inn and grabbed some dinner for himself and Linhardt, who he suspected hadn’t thought about eating in the midst of researching (which Claude suspected might be one of the reasons he was always so tired).When he got to the room, Linhardt was splayed out amongst five different books and a long scroll he’d been keeping notes on in a handwriting that Claude was never going to be able to read. He still had that ink transfer on his cheekbone.

“I brought you some food so you don’t pass out,” Claude said, setting it down on the small table near the bed, after clearing a few books and scrolls off it. He wasn’t sure how they were going to carry all of this. “No need for applause.”

“Do you think the Professor having the Crest of Flames means she’s a direct descendant to Nemesis, or that Rhea did something to make her act as a descendant? Obviously there was some sort of marker where she gained a different appearance and a stronger connection to her crest and powers. A catalyst has to have a cause.”

Claude leaned over and wiped the ink off Lin’s cheekbone with his thumb. He kept his hand on his face after and tilted it towards himself. “Eat something.”

Linhardt stared at him and then relented with a sigh. “Oh very well.” He stacked some of his books and papers to make room for Claude on the bed and accepted the plate of food. “Do you think this is going to involve combat?” Linhardt asked, chewing, and careful.

If Claude hadn’t known him so well he might not have picked up on the trepidation behind the words. Lin tended to sound bored with everything, even when it was fear.

“I am hopeful it’s not,” Claude said. “So’s Teach. I have no idea about Ingrid. She probably feasts on dragon hearts on her days off.”

“I don’t think that would provide much nutrition,” Linhardt said, chewing thoughtfully.

Claude laughed. “I wouldn’t worry about it,” he said, and then put a hand on Linhardt’s knee. “I promise, I won’t drag you into a war. You want to leave at any time, you’re welcome to.” He patted his knee. “You’re here for your brains, not your combat prowess.”

“Or lack there of,” Linhardt said. “If I’d had any talent… or interest in that area, I’d be as dead as…” He trailed off and focused on his food. “Does she think I hate her for the war? It’s not like she started it.”

“Teach…” Claude said, trailing off and unable to really decipher it himself. “She killed, or lead troops who killed, a lot of people. I’m guessing some of them were friends of ours.”

Lorenz in particular, but he’d never really wanted to confirm the specifics. _Some_ things he was happy not to know. He’d told Lorenz not to push too heavily for House Gloucester to side with the Empire. It was like that first practice fight, way back when at the Academy, he never listened and always rushed in. Only this time Claude wasn’t there to help him out of it.

“Hm,” Linhardt said.

“You okay with that?” Claude asked.

“No.” Linhardt put a half empty plate down. He never seemed to finish a meal, even if Claude was sure he hadn’t eaten all day. “But I’m not really okay with any of it. Never seems to stop fights from breaking out anyway. It would be like getting Caspar to take small bites. An impossibility.”

“Or getting _you_ to finish a meal?” Claude said.

Linhardt looked at him with a small smile. “Do you really think Seteth is Flayn’s father? It would make the major crests of Cichol and Cethleann have a stronger connection.”

“Oh yeah,” Claude said. “I’ve seen some overprotective brothers in my time, but the way he acted was way overboard even for Holst.”

“It really is fascinating,” Linhardt said. “The possibilities opened up before us, where there was none before.”

“How many days were you awake before you passed out outside?” Claude asked.

“Maybe two?” Linhardt said. “I paid for another week, so it’s hard to keep track. Also I thought you were due back yesterday?”

“Waylaid a bit by royal schedules,” Claude said. He set the plates aside and off the bed and took the book that had snuck back into Linhardt’s hand back. “You know we have a very long ride tomorrow, you might actually want to get some sleep.”

“I don’t think the way you’re looking at me means you’re interested in me sleeping,” Linhardt said.

“Hey,” Claude said, moving his hand from Linhardt’s knee up his thigh, “there’s sleep involved afterwards.”

“I suppose I can’t argue with that,” Linhardt said and moved a few more books aside.

Claude moved so he was leaning over Linhardt and leaned in close, lowering his voice. “Now, tell me more about those leads you mentioned…”

Linhardt placed his fingers on the sides of Claude’s face, brushing them down over the facial hair there on purpose and the bit he hadn’t shaved yet. “Maybe later, this seems more interesting at the moment.”

That was about as good of an invitation as any, so Claude took it, kissed him, and made sure to keep it interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> meanwhile, byleth distracts ingrid from listing claude related grievances by shifting the topic to the five orphans she and dorothea adopted


	4. Responsibilities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain keeps himself entertained at the palace.
> 
> (or maturity looks good on Sylvain... oh wait he ruined it)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the kudos and nice comments so far! This is shaping up to be a little bigger than I thought it would be. @waffle_fancy on twitter if you want to scream about fe3h

Sylvain woke up with his face mashed into the pillow and his arm somewhere around his knee. This was not … uncommon and wouldn’t have bothered him, except what woke him was Felix getting dressed.

“It’s too early,” Sylvain groaned, reaching aimlessly with his arms that were almost long enough to grab Felix by the back of his shirt.

“I have to ride out to Halmid," Felix said. “Something is going on with the food stores.”

Which meant they’d be dead come winter if they didn’t figure it out. “You _just_ got back.”

“Two days ago,” Felix corrected, he was so annoying and it was too early for this. “Most of which was spent in this room.”

If Sylvain had any shame he might have been bothered by how whiny his voice sounded. “Can’t someone else do it?”

Felix sighed, halfway through putting his hair up and turned towards him. “Were you that bored?”

“Yes,” Sylvain answered, immediately. “Also I missed you.”

He wasn’t going to ask if Felix missed him, because the man could compartmentalize like no one else and Sylvain did not want the hit to his ego if he said no.

He did, however, use the sleep matted early morning rakish look to his advantage, as he held his hand out to Felix. “The sun isn’t even up yet,” Sylvain said, with his best sleep charmed smile.

Felix let out an annoyed grunt and reached back for Sylvain’s hand. He had to have expected that he would be immediately dragged back into the bed, shoved up against Sylvain’s chest, and swamped with Sylvain’s arms wrapping him around from behind, or there would’ve been some resistance.

“I still have to go,” Felix said.

“Send Ashe,” Sylvain said, burrowing his face into Felix’s neck and shoulder. “I want to spend time with you, it’s been _three_ months.” Two days weren’t nearly enough time to make up for it all.

“So come with me, idiot,” Felix said, but softly and fond.

Sylvain shut his eyes. To be a useless layout about again… “I can’t.” He groaned into Felix’s shoulder and squeezed him tighter. The words were like acid in his mouth. “I have responsibilities.”

Felix’s laugh was quiet and private, but damn if it didn’t immediately warm something in Sylvain’s chest. He brought his hand back to stroke Sylvain’s hair. It felt really nice, especially when Felix brought his knuckles towards the base of his ear and rubbed there.

“You missed the Margrave,” Sylvain said, though it was more like a rumble. If people could purr he was pretty sure he was from what Felix’s hand was doing to his scalp.

“How’d that go?” Felix asked. They probably should have talked and shared earlier, but Sylvain didn’t know they’d only have two days — he’d planned on at least three before they went back to being people who did not live in this room.

“Well, still haven’t been disinherited, but his new strategy is to ask me to knock a mistress up so at least we’ll have an heir with Gautier blood.” Sylvain scoffed, but it was hard to be too angry when he was in the middle of being stroked like a cat. “I suppose I should be grateful he’s actually acknowledging the marriage.”

The tender game he still played with his father, even this long after, was letting Sylvain publicly do all the things that would make Gautier look good and present him as a perfect future head of the house, while pretending he hadn’t said that Sylvain had finally found the best way to disappoint him when Sylvain had handed him a wedding invitation.

He should’ve gone with his first idea and just sent an announcement afterwards along with an obituary for the Gautier crest.

“He’s also pissed he didn’t get a personal visit for the tour of the Kingdom,” Sylvain added. Goddess forbid the king focus on the _common_ people during his visit.

“That’d be like visiting Fraldarius. The tour was long enough and we’re both here more than we are at home.”

Always strange how even after all this time, Felix called Fraldarius home. It had taken Sylvain no time at all to start thinking of the palace as home. Before that it felt like the Monastery was. Or maybe it was wherever he felt useful and Felix was there.

“Don’t leave,” he said, pathetically.

Felix sighed and stopped petting him, which was the last thing Sylvain wanted, but he did turn in Sylvain’s arms so he was face to face with him. “Don’t laze here all day,” he said, and then kissed him way too lightly for way too little time before easily freeing himself from Sylvain’s much larger arms.

Felix grabbed the rest of his gear, leaving Sylvain sulking in bed, and then turned back before he opened the door. “I missed you too.”

Then he left shutting it behind him.

Sylvain let out a loud, dramatic sigh and flopped back onto the bed.

He waited long enough that he wouldn’t be tempted to do something romantic and stupid like jump in front of Felix’s horse and then dragged himself out of bed.

Sylvain didn’t have an official title on the royal court, then again technically neither did Felix, but was pretty sure if he had one it would be ‘schmoozer for the king’ since he spent most of his days placating nobles and visitors and acting as a go-between for anything not really important enough for Dimitri to address directly. Most of the time Sylvain could handle it himself without even asking… it wasn’t revitalizing a barren landscape or setting up an entire school system in Duscur, but he thought he was making a small difference, at least for the king.

Speaking of which, it was around the time of day where his unofficial, make sure the king wasn’t overworking himself or sulking, duty was about due. He was sure when Dedue decided to spend most of his time in Duscur instead of being Dimitri’s full-time vassal that Sylvain’d been given more specific instructions, but who had time to remember things.

He knocked on Dimitri’s office, waited for the characteristic permission to enter, and then walked in. The curtains covered the windows, darkening the room to only a dim light of a singular candle on the other side of the room and whatever sunlight was able to poke through. The king had his right hand on his right temple, moving in circles around the outside of his eyepatch.

“Are you brooding or is this another headache?” he asked, then for the hell of it added, “Your Majesty.”

Dimitri looked up at him and didn’t look annoyed, so it must’ve been the latter.

“Sylvain, would you mind reading this?” Dimitri asked, still holding his temple. “I’m afraid my vision has been somewhat shaky since this morning.”

“It’s the afternoon now,” Sylvain said, but he took the paper. “Also you might read better with some light in the room.”

Dimitri seemed to grimace at the thought, so Sylvain squinted to see the words on the page and read them off for him, without opening the curtains. It was the usual boring petition for Lord Jumped Real Quick to Support Cornelia to request back lands that Lady Took Advantage of the War was currently stewarding.

“You could go a healer,” Sylvain suggested, after he relayed the information. Then channeled his best Felix and said, “you should go to healer.”

“I don’t want to trouble them,” Dimitri replied, taking back the paper and putting it into a pile with a bunch of other papers that were probably more of the same thing. “I’ve had worse, I wouldn’t even consider this much of a headache.”

“That makes your vision blurry,” Sylvain said. “Sure.” He walked towards the water pitcher set out and untouched seemingly since it was put there and poured a glass of water, setting it in front of Dimitri.

Dimitri looked at it and took a drink. “You really do fill in for Felix when he’s gone don’t you?”

“Why’d he have to be the one to take care of Halmid’s food stores?” Sylvain tried very hard not to sound like he was whining again.

“The last two inquiries we sent weren’t able to determine the issue,” Dimitri said. “And Halmid’s in Fraldarius territory.”

“I know, but Felix’s uncle’s been taking care of things.”

Dimitri looked up at him. He wasn’t holding his temple anymore at least. “I’m sympathetic to your current situation, but you know that as Duke Fraldarius, he has to occasionally make an appearance in the territory.”

“Where did Ingrid and the Professor go anyway?” Sylvain asked. He hadn’t seen any details on the knights assignments, just that she and the Professor had gone yesterday.

Dimitri’s hand reached back to his temple and he took another sip of water before answering. “A short expedition.”

That was vague and ominous. “They’re not eloping are they? Because Ingrid and Dorothea have _five_ orphans to feed now.”

Dimitri never exactly rolled his eyes (eye singular now), but he did look up at the ceiling as if asking for the Goddess for help to deal with his attractive and brilliant friend. “It’s hopefully nothing.” He squinted down at the next sheet of paper.

“Need me to read those too? Or would you prefer I stamped them with ‘no, grow up, it’s not your land’ while you went to lie down in a quiet room somewhere?”

“You don’t really do that do you?” Dimitri asked.

“I couldn’t get anyone to make me the stamp,” Sylvain said, getting a tired smile from his king.

“Reading them would be helpful,” Dimitri said. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eye, as Sylvain read off much of the same, while adding colorful commentary, that occasionally Dimitri had to confirm wasn’t actually in it, which honestly only encouraged Sylvain to do it more.

“Huh,” Sylvain said as he finally got to something that wasn’t the exact same droning territory dispute or invitation to grace them with his presence. Dimitri glanced up from responding to a petition that had been slightly less petty than the others. “There’s a village near Hevring that claims they’re being haunted by the Death Knight. Now… I distinctly remember us killing him.”

“Did they use the phrase haunted?” Dimitri asked.

“Yep.”

“That is strange, perhaps it’s someone mimicking him to cause alarm. Does it say if House Hevring has investigated?”

Sylvain scanned the parchment again. “Apparently they looked into it, but saw nothing, although there’s been some reports in other villages of monsters that seem to disappear, which may or may not be connected. Wish they would’ve disappeared when we fought them, would’ve made that job a lot easier.”

Dimitri frowned, his constipated thinking look. “And what is it they are requesting?”

“Someone with dark magic expertise,” Sylvain said. “There’s a nice passive aggressive remark about how they lost most of the people in that area with that skill during the war.” He scoffed. “Maybe if they weren’t throwing fireballs, _mire_ , and actual _death_ at us.”

“Strange,” Dimitri said again. “I believe we have the resources, it wouldn’t cause any harm to send someone out there. I’ll—”

Sylvain stopped him. “It’s an assignment schedule, Your Majesty, I can handle it.”

“If you insist,” Dimitri said. He looked a little relieved as he noticed that it was the last paper left. There’d be a huge new pile tomorrow, but the little victories were the things that mattered.

“I might actually be able to eat dinner with the children,” he said. He seemed actually grateful. It felt nice being useful.

Felix was right, he was bored without them.

“I’ll take care of this,” Sylvain said, “you should walk around a bit before your ass falls asleep and you fall and break something when you try to get up.”

Dimitri put his fingers on his temple again, the other temple. “Always appreciate your frank advice, Sylvain.”

“It’s why I’m here,” Sylvain said with a grin. He left him, humming to himself as he walked towards the knights’ hall, when he overheard the tittering and screaming that meant children were afoot. Last time he’d let his guard down they’d tackled him into a wall and his knee had bent in a very wrong direction (and that was just Valya), so he made sure to approach the noises with a defensive stance.

“Uncle Sylvain!” Gertrude called out, being the first to notice him. She ran at him and hugged his legs. She was very out of breath. From what he could see behind her, the kids were involved in a very complicated game of who can push whom over the fastest. It reminded him of his youth, but with less broken noses.

“This is a surprise, milady,” Sylvain said, bowing to her once she’d detached. She giggled at him.

“Come play with us!” Gertrude demanded. For someone not biologically related to Ingrid, she sure did take after her in the bossy department.

“Well if it’s an order,” Sylvain said, pretending to be glum about it as she dragged him into the open courtyard and he got accosted by too many children to count, all speaking at the same time.

After a brief discussion between five children under eight and one ten year old, Sylvain was given the assignment of being the beast that chased them and turned them into adjunct beasts so they could then go after the others. He really regretted slacking off on training while Felix was gone (it was _peacetime_ not that Felix understood the word) because of how out of breath he got stomping around and pretending to eat the crown prince and Galatea children.

After a bit, he made Osahar his assistant to fill in, because he was the oldest, because Sylvain was out of breath, and because the ten year old hadn’t been playing this actively with his siblings and Glenn last time he’d seen them.

Sylvain took a break, thankful they distracted each other and leaned against the outer wall breathing hard.

“See this is what happens when you take them on at once,” came a familiar voice.

Sylvain looked around to see Dorothea, beaming at him. She was wearing Galatea colors and corset that really brought up her breasts. “Lady Galatea, to what do we owe the pleasure,” Sylvain said… well mostly, he was too out of breath to get every word out.

Dorothea laughed at him. Definitely at him. “I was asked to help with picking a music tutor for the prince.” She sighed, happily. “Finally, _someone_ shares my fondness for the arts.”

“Is that a nice way of saying you expected him to be as tone deaf as his parents?” Sylvain asked with a cocked eyebrow.

“It’s always nice to be surprised.”

He laughed, regretted it immediately as he needed to take another few wheezing breaths to calm his heartbeat, and then stood up to a respectable position of not looking like he was going to collapse.

“How long are you staying?”

“At least a few days,” Dorothea said. “Don’t want to deprive their grandfather of spoiling them for too long, but certainly no point in heading back so soon without Ingrid.”

“What’s she doing anyway, did she tell you?” he asked, since Dimitri was being weird about it.

“Something not dangerous that takes less than a week,” Dorothea said with a hopeful sigh. “I don’t know, she said it was hush hush and I didn’t want to be burdened with royal secrets if they weren’t juicy gossip.”

“I’ve got some of that if you want it,” Sylvain offered.

Dorothea laughed again and then looked at him consideringly, before noticing one of the children had the other in a headlock. “Gertie! Do not choke your sister!” She let out an exasperated noise. “This was much easier when I wasn’t so outnumbered.”

“I’m surprised they haven’t banned you from the orphanages yet.”

They’d _started_ with Adele and Gertrude, two street urchins in Enbarr — from what he remembered Ingrid had complained a lot about it, blaming Dorothea being sentimental about her situation growing up and not thinking in the practical sense, but still gave in when they adopted Hanes from a Gaspard sanctuary that had far too many war orphans. He assumed they’d be stopping there, but last year Osahar and his baby brother Bes somehow had to come back with Ingrid after a trip to Duscur.

“We’ve been donating to them quite a bit since the crops picked up last year, so I think banning us would be less than polite,” Dorothea preened and then looked up at him with a calculating smile.

“You and Felix could visit.”

Sylvain snorted and stretched his arms above his head, happy to have his lungs back. “As much as adopting a crestless kid would drive my father nuts, I relish the freedom I have—like right now, I’m the fun uncle and not the mother,” he walked around her, and then backwards towards the interior, “so I can just walk away and do whatever I want.”

“Must be nice,” Dorothea muttered.

“It is, I sleep _at least_ eight hours every night,” Sylvain said back, laughing as she whisper-yelled a fairly rude phrase at him.

He shot one last look behind him at the kids still roughhousing, much to Dorothea’s stress levels. The way they were directing things reminded him of playing with the original Glenn and bothering Ingrid, while Felix and Dimitri (who never separated or Felix would cry) tried to catch up.

He shook his head to dispel the memories and went to finish the assignments. Once he got to the roster at the knights’ hall he noticed that Ashe hadn’t returned to Gaspard yet. Didn’t he hate ghosts?

Sylvain chuckled to himself, causing one of the stewards to look at him strange, and set up the assignment. He was bored and had to keep himself entertained somehow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> meanwhile, dorothea is overrun as glenn and valya join into the fray but is saved when dimitri, attempting to grab his children for dinner is cajoled into playing as the beast, because apparently dorothea doesn't do it right


	5. Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth and Claude attempt to get answers from Rhea.
> 
> (or, The Gang Goes to Zanado)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stole a few pieces of dialogue from verdant wind/silver snow (but this growing monstrosity won't be a retelling of those endings tacked onto azure moon)

"There’s no crest stone, and yet somehow it still works,” Linhardt said, studying the Sword of the Creator with intense fascination as Byleth strapped it to her side.

“Don’t touch it,” Ingrid said. “Just because there’s no crest stone doesn’t mean there couldn’t be a… reaction for someone who doesn’t have that particular crest.”

“A reaction?” Linhardt looked intrigued, then like he remembered something. “Oh. Well, maybe that won’t happen. There are hardly any cases of single-use incompatible crests having ill reactions. And there _is_ no crest stone so I would be willing to risk it for the observable experimentation.”

“I wouldn’t,” Byleth said. She felt antsy. It was not a familiar feeling and she didn’t particularly like it.

Linhardt sighed, like it was a burden to be saddled with people that didn’t want him to turn into a beast like Miklan… or the creatures they’d found twisted by crest stones at Enbarr.

“This place gives me the creeps,” Claude said, looking around. “It feels like we’re stepping onto a graveyard.”

“We are,” Byleth said. When she closed her eyes for a moment it was almost as if she could see the city, filled with people, flowers and spices mingling in the air, but as soon as she felt like she had it, it drifted away from her faint and distant once again.

Linhardt shook his head. “You’re both saying that as if it’s a bad thing. There are hints here of what truly happened, far beyond what I could ascertain in writings.”

“You going to look around while we head in?” Claude asked.

“I don’t see how I could help in talking to Lady Rhea,” Linhardt said, “this will be a much less boring use of my time.”

“You could have said more interesting,” Ingrid said.

“I could have said anything,” Linhardt replied. Claude coughed a laugh into his fist and looked in the other direction.

Ingrid looked like she couldn’t tell which of them was more suspicious.

“I think it’s best if you both wait out here,” Byleth said. “We don't want her to feel like she’s being ambushed and Catherine is… protective.” She gestured with her head towards Linhardt at Ingrid. “Please make sure he doesn’t get eaten or walk off a cliff while he’s exploring.”

Ingrid nodded and then looked over at Linhardt and shook her head. “It seems I am destined forever to be following and saving boys who have no common sense.”

“Its important to play to your strengths,” Byleth said, and Ingrid smiled before following Linhardt who was already headed south towards a crumbling pile of ruins that might have been a… school? Byleth had it for a fraction of a second but it slipped through like sand. She turned back towards Claude and gestured forward.

They walked down what might have been a ravine once (or some other way of keeping the water running, the name of it was on the tip of her tongue, but that’s where it stayed) towards ruins, inset on a red dust filled wall of ancient broken things, impossible to ascertain the difference between the ruins and the rock.

Rhea’s home was fairly simple. It stood shaded from the brunt of the sun, built into the wreckage of what might have once been a similar structure. It also was built in a way that made it extremely easy to see when someone was approaching it. Catherine, as always, was waiting for them when they arrived.

“Been some time now,” Catherine said, and then glanced over at Claude, “I don’t remember you being pious enough to make a pilgrimage, von Riegan.”

“I don’t believe we spent much time together, Thunder Catherine,” Claude replied.

“We need to talk to Rhea,” Byleth said.

Catherine opened her mouth, probably to once again say that Lady Rhea was ill and needed rest, and that they shouldn’t bother her, but she was interrupted by a voice inside that carried through the window.

“Let them in, Catherine,” Rhea said.

Catherine gave Byleth and Claude both a warning look and opened the door. Rhea looked marginally better than the last time Byleth saw her. The tired circles underneath her eyes since they rescued her from Enbarr were less prominent and her hair looked like it had been brushed and braided recently instead of repeatedly slept on.

Rhea looked at Claude first, with some surprise and then to Byleth and her eyes widened and then her mouth turned down in disappointment. “You look different than the last time we spoke.”

“Two years does that,” Byleth said, refusing to talk about her hair. Rhea had once called it silken and so like her own and the memory of that … motherly affection made her uncomfortable all over again.

  
“So it has been,” Rhea said, with a sigh. “Catherine, would you mind making some tea for our guests?” She turned back towards them as Catherine ‘yes lady Rhea’ed her way back to the kitchen. “Please have a seat,” she said, gesturing to them. “I’m afraid we don’t have any ginger tea,” she said to Byleth, remembering her favorite, “We have angelica, crescent-moon, and chamomile if you like.”

“Anything’s fine,” Byleth said, the same time Claude replied with, “I could do with some chamomile.”

Rhea nodded and Catherine either could hear her from the kitchen or the offer had been half-assed, because she didn’t direct it towards her.

“You look well, Lady Rhea,” Claude said, his fingers were tapping rapidly against his leg.

“Yes, well, my confinement was… difficult, but the time I have been given to rest has restored me somewhat.”

Claude’s finger tapping seemed to increase in speed during the stretch of silence after that response. He looked over at Byleth and then nudged her foot with his own.

Byleth sighed. “I have—we have some questions to ask you if you’re up for it.”

If she wasn’t up for, Byleth was going to ask them anyway.

All three of them sitting there had one singular thing in common, an unreadable nature to their eyes. Claude hid his well and Rhea could express herself so that you didn’t see that the concern or joy was missing from the pastel depths of her light green eyes. Byleth wasn’t as good at expressions, since her youth people had commented (and she’d gotten the nickname Ashen Demon because of it) so it always seemed a little bit more obvious to people.

Rhea’s eyes were soft green and held no indication of sympathy, worry, or any other emotion she was hiding behind pretty words. “I thought you might…” She pushed a strand of green hair that had fallen out of its braid behind her ear.

 _What did you do to me? What really happened to my mother? Why did my father tell me not to trust you?_ Those were all the questions Byleth wanted to ask, but instead she said, “We have information about a potential threat to Fódlan, an unground society that may have had a hand in the war and the resulting chaos.”

Claude took over, “Apparently they have some sort of vendetta against the Children of the Goddess. We were wondering if you knew anything about them?”

“The … Children of the Goddess… or this secret society?” Rhea asked, looking at them both expression and eyes blank.

“Either,” Byleth and Claude at practically the same time.

Rhea looked away from them, maybe towards the kitchen wondering how long the tea would take, maybe towards the past, or maybe so she could think of another excuse not to really answer any questions.

“Rhea,” Byleth tried. “They might still be a threat. You always said you trusted me, so there’s no harm in telling us what you know.”

“I…” Rhea started and then the door opened and Catherine emerged with tea.

Byleth leaned back in her chair and huffed an annoyed breath through her nose at the timing. Claude looked… amused? It was hard to tell. “Waited on by a Knight of Seiros, pretty nice, I gotta say.”

Catherine shot him a look that would have frozen the bowels of a lesser man and then turned towards Rhea, gaze softening. “Lady Rhea, are you feeling all right? You shouldn’t over exert yourself.”

“I’m fine, Catherine… would you mind terribly giving us some privacy?” Rhea asked in that way that was sweet, but never really a question.

“Of course, Lady Rhea,” Catherine said, bowing slightly. She made sure to give both Byleth and Claude a warning look before she left.

Once she left, the silence stretched, as Claude and Byleth waited to Rhea to say something, but she merely poured them all tea and took her own cup, sipping it quietly. Claude took the cue and took his own cup, murmuring something about how it smelled good.

Byleth left hers on the table.

“What do you have to lose telling me the truth?” Byleth knew she was losing control of the situation, but the frustration was mounting and it was difficult to stop herself. “There’s some secret society, slithering in the darkness, with a grudge against humanity and these Children of the Goddess and you _clearly_ know something. So stop with the secrets and tell us.”

Rhea looked up at her over the tea cup and then placed it back down onto its plate. “You may have been blessed by the Goddess, child, but that does not mean that you have the authority to order me to speak to your pleasure in my own home.”

“I think I got that when you stepped down and made me archbishop,” Byleth countered. She felt slightly vindicated that she’d at least struck a nerve judging by Rhea’s visible frown.

“Woah woah,” Claude said, “We don’t need to get heated. We’re only trying to continue your mission in protecting Fódlan. And if you know anything about this threat, this would be a great time to say so.”

Rhea turned her hard stare from Byleth towards Claude and her face softened slightly. “There have been… many people who have threatened the peace of Fódlan, long before that vicious girl and her broken empire. I have no name for them, but you have heard of Nemesis…”

“The King of Liberation,” Claude said nodding. “Yeah, he was given the Sword of the Creator by the Goddess and then was taken down by Seiros after he flipped sides.”

Rhea closed her eyes. “He was a common bandit and a hero of none. He plundered the Holy Tomb and stole the remains of the progenitor god. When he came to Zanado… he already had the…” She opened her eyes to glance at Byleth’s side, “sword and used it to slaughter the people there. Her children. The children of the progenitor god.”

Sothis had said she felt a mixture of emotions on coming to this place, joy overlaid with sadness, happiness mixed with anger… Byleth had her own children and now she understood. Sothis had watched them grow here only to die. The thought made Byleth sick.

“That’s…” Byleth started, but found she couldn’t finish the sentence. Rhea had turned to look at her, unreadable expression, but her fingers reached out as if she was going to take her hand and then pulled back as if she’d thought better of it.

“That is completely different from what the legends say about Nemesis,” Claude said. “If he was a common bandit how did he wipe out an entire city?”

Rhea scoffed. “He never would have been capable of anything so monstrous on his own.”

“So Nemesis had accomplices,” Claude said, a sharp excitement in his voice and his body language. Byleth could see him almost vibrating off the chair as he ran with his conclusions. “And those accomplices must be the ancient secret society that has held a grudge ever since. And if they were doing blood experiments now, maybe they figured that out previously which is why the sacked the Holy Tomb.”

Rhea folded her fingers together and looked down at them. “They had… opportunity after Zanado to use their corpses to increase their powers and then brought war to Fódlan.”

“It couldn’t have been all of them,” Claude said, forgetting to pretend at sympathy when his goal was this close to his grasp. “Or else there’d be no reason for our Dance Partners to be skulking around waiting for an opportunity for revenge or even…” He blinked and sat back down in his chair. “Huh.”

“Care to share with the class?” Byleth asked.

That seemed to snap him out of it and he looked around a little sheepishly. “I think I get now _why_ Edelgard would be working with them, even if Lin’s theory about them is true, she was trying to use them just as they were using her and the Empire.”

“Whatever her reasons,” Rhea said, anger threaded in her usual dulcet tone, “she went against everything the Goddess protected, defiled her tomb as Nemesis did, and then used that power to — to—” Her hands were shaking now, one of them knocked her tea cup over, and she started to breathe in and out sharply. 

Byleth automatically got up and went towards her, but Rhea shook her head. “No, no I cannot be plagued by this _mistake_ … I cannot…”

“What mistake?” Byleth asked, trying again to gently touch and calm her down. She reached out and touched Rhea’s shoulder between the sharp breaths. Then, gently, she slid her hand from her shoulder to the middle of her back, moving aside her hair, and wrapped her arm around Rhea. She carefully lead her to stand up straighter and breathe out. There was always a feeling beneath the bitterness and anger that Byleth could never seem to extinguish. It was probably why she’d stopped pressuring her for answers.

For a moment, it seemed to have worked, Rhea’s eyes closed, her posture softened under Byleth’s touch and she breathed out a little more steadily. “I only wanted…”

“Lady Rhea!” Catherine said, barging through the door. Claude threw his hands up in frustration at her timing. Catherine practically dragged Rhea out of Byleth’s hold and glared at the both of them. “It’s time for you to go.”

“We can come back later,” Claude offered.

“No,” Catherine said. “You can’t. I won’t let you bring this distress to Lady Rhea anymore.”

Rhea said nothing to defend them. Nothing to answer the questions Byleth still had. She only weakly leaned into Catherine’s protective embrace, looking tired.

The feeling that was always underneath it all stung at a place deep inside, breaking into sharp pieces in her throat. Somehow she knew the mistake Rhea spoke of wasn’t a thing… it was Byleth.

Claude looked like he was about to try another tactic, but Byleth stopped him. “We’re leaving,” she said. “I knew this was a waste of time.”

Claude followed her lead and made his way towards the door, Byleth stopped at the doorway, gripping onto the wood until it was bruisingly painful in her hand. “If you made a mistake,” she said to Rhea, “then atone for it. Then maybe you won’t be haunted by whatever continues to hold your tongue.”

There was no response, not that Byleth expected one. Only Catherine’s pointless demand of, “Go.” Which they were already doing.

Byleth and Claude walked out in silence and kept the silence until they were far enough away that the visual of the small house was mostly hidden. “So that went well,” Claude said.

“Do you want me to say I told you so?” Byleth asked. She felt like she’d run into a sandstorm, battered by wind and glass, of her own volition… again. The rawness shifted swiftly into anger and then was smothered into annoyance.

“No, I mean that went well,” Claude said sincerely. At Byleth’s blank look he continued. “She may not have told us who or what the Children of the Goddess were, but she did tell us that Nemesis was working for our Dance Partners, which means that is a very good place to keep looking. I think I even have a good place to start…”

Byleth let out a bemused noise. “Nothing ever stops you, does it?”

“Entropy doesn’t suit me,” Claude replied. They made their way back, taking a few minutes to locate Linhardt and Ingrid, the former was examining a wall of ancient scribbles and the latter was looking heavenwards as if she could will lightning to strike her down.

“How did it go?” Ingrid asked.

“Claude thinks well,” Byleth said. She felt pain scraping against the inside of her chest dying to get out and breathed through it. “Rhea didn’t have anything useful to say.”

She knew this was the point where she had to say that since she’d done her part, she and Ingrid should return to the Kingdom and let Claude continue on his own. But that made her think of her children and _that_ made her think of Sothis’s children living in this wreck of a canyon slaughtered for their blood and she knew that wasn’t going to happen.

And no matter how Rhea felt, Byleth still needed answers. “And he has a lead?”

Claude eyed her. She suspected he was coming to the conclusion that she was still going along with this, but he wisely didn’t verbalize it or grin. “Lin, that tome you found about the war against Nemesis, the one that implicated the ten elites, didn’t it have a map?”

“Implicated the ten elites?” Ingrid asked.

Linhardt looked up from where he was sketching down the symbols, complete with the spaces where they didn’t look like the squiggles had finished. “Yes. Although it was incomplete and I couldn’t narrow down the exact location, it didn’t seem to follow modern cartography.”

“Where was the general location?” Claude asked.

Linhardt yawned, barely covering his mouth with a charcoal stained hand. “Fódlan’s Throat.”

Claude suddenly looked uneasy. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Any chance it’s on the Almyran side and not Goneril?”

“Perhaps,” Linhardt said with as shrug. “I told you, I couldn’t get an exact area.”

“Let’s try that first then before we need to … travel through the Locket.” He clapped his hands together, avoiding both Ingrid and Byleth who started to ask him more specifics, “Could check out the Eastern Church on the way there. Who knows if they have information there that matches up to the books I absolutely did not steal from the ancillary library storage in the monastery that definitely does not exist.”

Claude kept walking towards his wyvern, Linhardt followed and they started chatting about theories and research in a way that kind of made Byleth want to push them both into a cupboard.

“Are you sure you want to keep going?” Ingrid asked her.

“Yes,” Byleth said. “Are you sure _you_ want to keep going?”

Ingrid gave her a level look. “Do you want to be left alone with those two?”

The image of Linhardt and Claude chattering away on the back of the wyvern, while Byleth was cramped in between them came unwilling to her mind.

“No, no I would not.”

Ingrid smiled. “Then I’m staying, Your Grace. For as long as you have need of me.”

Byleth let whatever feelings she hadn’t been able to smother go and smiled back at Ingrid, following her towards her pegasus and leaving the canyon behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> meanwhile, catherine attends to lady rhea and for a second kinda wishes that cladue and byleth had challenged her, because she is so bored


	6. Buried Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri asks Dedue for help unraveling a mystery close to both of them and Claude and Co. explore the mausoleum of the Eastern Church for clues.
> 
> (or, idk my best friend dedue? & Ingrid ISNT afraid of ghosts, OKAY)

Dimitri always felt a great sense of relief when Dedue returned. He attempted at all times to not overtly show it, lest he make his friend worried that he shouldn’t leave at all. Dimitri was sure that if he’d asked, Dedue would have stayed at his side attending him forever, but it was too much burden for a man who already bore so much. Whose people had born so much out of an accusation and lie…

His thoughts, once again, turned unbidden towards Cornelia’s last words and the implications behind them, especially considering the mysterious underground conspiracy Claude had introduced. He tried very hard not to think of it and instead enjoy watching his youngest completely enamored by Dedue’s full attention as she chattered on nonsense words that he seemed to take as seriously as a war council meeting.

“This is insane,” Sylvain said, rolling up his sleeves in an irritated habit from their younger years.“He gives her some pathetic wildflowers and now _Dedue_ is the favorite?”

“Mhm,” Dimitri said, humoring him, but then unable to add. “She does seem to have an excellent gauge of character even at two.”

“You wound me, Your Majesty,” Sylvain said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Glenn, I still have you, right buddy?”

“Have me for what?” Glenn asked, looking up from the hymn book he’d been studying all morning.

“You like me more than Dedue?” Sylvain asked, which honestly the lack of propriety in asking a child to pick favorites —

“Yeah,” Glenn agreed easily. “You’re the best, Uncle Sylvain.”

Sylvain smugly preened and ruffled Glenn’s hair. Dimitri sighed and shook his head at both of them. Valya had one of the, as Sylvain called them, pathetic wildflowers tucked behind her ear and was now attempting to stick the rest of them in Dedue’s hair, as he patiently stayed bent over at what appeared to be an uncomfortable angle and allowed her to do so.

“Valya, I think that might be enough,” he said, feeling a pinch of guilt as his daughter’s lower lip jutted out slightly.

“I don’t mind,” Dedue said, smiling more broadly and relaxed than Dimitri had seen him do in some time as Valya beamed at him and continued her decorative floral arrangements in his hair.

“Enjoy the back pain,” Sylvain muttered.

Dimitri was about to harangue him for acting like a child, when Glenn’s new music instructor walked towards them. He hadn’t realized the time, but also did not have to mention it to Glenn, as his son shut his book and quickly ran off towards the woman. Genevieve Bisset had been highly recommended by Dorothea, they’d crossed circles at a point during her performing days. Dimitri initially had thought she might be Dagdan, as her complexion and hair seemed close to Shamir, but on closer inspection her hair was a shade darker and her eyes seemed to match. As music was not a skill he was particularly talented in, he had no issue deferring to Dorothea’s expertise.

“Okay,” Sylvain said, baldy examining her figure as she walked away with the prince’s hand in her own, “ _that_ I can at least understand.”

“Do not encourage it, he asked me if he could marry a commoner yesterday.” Dimitri suspected Glenn would not be trying to wriggle out of music lessons the way he did writing.

Sylvain laughed.

Agnia appeared soon after Valya had finished her flower arranging and was inspecting her work and at the sight of her nanny and connection of being taken away, she immediately began to cry. It was not an entirely… sincere cry, but it still drew an incredible amount of concern from Dimitri and he swept her up into his arms to comfort her.

“She can stay with me for the rest of the day,” Dimitri said to her nanny. The woman was professional, but he was able to catch the small disappointed look that reminded him of Byleth whenever he gave into the children’s demands.

He ignored it, in favor of soothing Valya’s hiccuping cries. It took him longer than he was expecting and he gave Dedue an apologetic smile, though his friend waited patiently. Sylvain, however, shook his head and excused himself in typical Sylvain fashion.

That was fine with Dimitri, he rarely was able to have a serious conversation if Sylvain was interjecting. “I did not expect you so soon,” Dimitri said to Dedue. “Though I am glad for it.” They had only just left Duscur not a week ago.

“Ingrid asked for my opinion on the new vernalization techniques they are implementing for some of the winter crops and we thought it would be good to come now in case winter made travel difficult.”

“Ah,” Dimitri said. “So you are taking my wife’s approach of suddenly having business when the weather gets too cold.”

“It does seem effective,” Dedue said and smiled at Dimitri’s responding laugh.

“I suppose I cannot blame either of you,” Dimitri said, shifting Valya in his arms as she stubbornly clung to his tunic, “one visit to Brigid in the summer and I nearly collapsed."

“I remember that,” Dedue said.

“I would hope so,” Dimitri said, with another soft laugh. Dedue eventually had to drag him into a tent to cool off before he embarrassed himself in front of the entire Macneary Royal house.

“I’m sure you and Mercedes are not quite settled,” Dimitri said, “but if you have a moment I would appreciate discussing something with you.”

Dedue looked a little surprised, understandable considering there shouldn’t have been much to catch up within the week since they’d last spoken. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

“Don’t start with that,” Dimitri said, attempting to bottle his frustration by patting his daughter on the back.

“It seems appropriate given the setting,” Dedue said, unapologetically.

Dimitri sighed and turned around, gesturing with his free hand for Dedue to follow. He needn’t have bothered, Dedue was already close in step with him, much like when they were young. That was one of the few things that had remained the same. Dimitri was both very happy for his friend that he had found a way to create betterment for his people and also greatly pained at a presence that always seemed to be missing.

The last two years had been a transition and Dimitri shouldn’t have had any complaints, as he did still see Dedue quite often, but with him no longer residing full time at the palace, Dimitri understood Valya’s overwhelming excitement at his arrival.

They made their way to the drawing room, rather than his office, as he had too many breakable items in there should his daughter stir from her sleepy posture. Once he’d had a moment to ask a servant that they not be disturbed, he realized he should have been a better host. “I’m sorry, I should call them back — did you want any tea?”

Dedue shook his head. “I can tell that you have something important to say, there is no need for formalities, Dimitri.”

Dimitri smiled at that and nodded. He settled himself into a chair across from Dedue and Valya shifted sleepily before returning to her relaxed state.

“We never spoke about what Cornelia said,” Dimitri said, “about the truth of the Tragedy of Duscur.”

“There were more pressing matters,” Dedue offered, reasonably.

“Perhaps,” Dimitri said. “I think I … did not want any more memories of my own life tainted.” His Stepmother had always been kind, it was difficult to think of her working with those that could plot so monstrously. “That said,” he sighed. “I have some new information that might be connected.”

He told Dedue briefly about the secret dark society that may have been manipulating matters far longer than any of them would have known. It made sense, given Cornelia and Arundel were set on he and Edelgard killing each other. The missing piece of it all seemed suddenly filled.

If only he’d known sooner.

“Do you suppose that your Stepmother was also replaced?” Dedue asked.

“No,” Dimitri said, although that thought, however dark, would have brought some answers and comfort in a way. She had seemed much the same the day before their journey and even before they split carriages she had gently laid her hand on his head. He remembered it so clearly.

Dimitri shook his head. “That hardly matters, what really concerns me is that they may have also had a hand in framing the Duscur people. It would not surprise me, given the slaughter their actions caused in…” He almost said the words ‘manipulating El’ but he did not know that for certain. She had been _so_ focused and driven by the world she imagined that he wasn’t sure if thinking she’d been manipulated cast aspersions on her memory just as an excuse for some redemption. “the war itself.”

“Hm,” Dedue said, a murmur of a thought. “Do you believe that Byleth and Claude will find proof of this.”

“I don’t know,” Dimitri said. “I do know, however, that I think an examination of what really happened is long overdue. As much as reflecting on past events pains me, I can’t let my tragedy cloud the truth of others.”

“Have you told anyone else of this?” Dedue asked.

Dimitri shook his head. “If there are agents of these people that are observing, I do not wish to alarm them as to my sudden interest in an event long since passed.”

“What would you have me do?” Dedue asked, willing and ready to offer help no matter the time. It gratified Dimitri almost as much as it annoyed him.

“Whatever you are comfortable with, my friend,” Dimitri said.

“Finding the truth of this would bring you relief,” Dedue said, and held up his hand as Dimitri tried to object to him pressuring himself on Dimitri’s behalf. “I would also find some relief knowing the truth behind this. It did nothing to think on the past before, but now that the people of Duscur once again feel as if they have a future, I would be willing to do anything to protect that.”

And this was the reason Dimitri would never ask Dedue to stay. At the Academy he never could have pictured his friend taking himself to a be leader, marrying and sharing his life, and truly coming into his own life and wants instead of throwing it aside on Dimitri’s behalf.

“I suspect financials may be a good place to start,” Dimitri said, clearing his throat slightly. “Although I have doubts I would be able to research matters long past without it raising some suspicions, even from my own staff.”

Dedue nodded. “I still have certain connections. Do you know of any others that may have been replaced, as Monica and Tomas were?”

“I…” Dimitri could not stop second guessing himself. He knew that to use _this_ to get the answers he wanted would be simple and he was not sure if some of his conclusions weren’t just that. “I’m not sure.”

“You seem to have someone thought of,” Dedue said.

Dimitri sighed and rubbed his daughter’s back with the crook of his thumb. “I recall discovering that donations from Lord Arundel to the Church stopped rather suddenly. And I know I was young and it has been some time, but I do remember him from when he brought Edelgard into the city. Considering he _brought_ her to Fhirdiad and then suddenly decided to take her back, that could be something.”

He’d also pushed the same agenda Cornelia had. “I feel certain,” Dimitri said, “at least that Cornelia was working for them. Murdering my uncle and then framing me for it seems to align with their objectives.”

There was silence for a moment. Neither Dimitri, nor Dedue particularly wanted to remember that time. Unfortunately, it was difficult to forget, especially given that he’d never recovered his vision in that eye.

“Lord Arundel seems a reasonable conclusion,” Dedue said. “You should not doubt yourself, Dimitri.”

“Easier said than done,” Dimitri said. “I’m afraid my biases on this matter run fairly deep.”

“All of ours do,” Dedue said.

Dimitri breathed out, feeling somehow less burdened by this, even if he was hoping he heard something soon of it being a very elaborate gaff on Claude’s part.

He looked at Dedue and noticed an excellent subject change.“You know you still have flowers in your hair, my friend.”

Dedue shrugged. “The princess told me they suited me.”

Dimitri smiled, feeling a bit more at ease. “They do.”

* * *

As Claude suspected, the Eastern Church was a lot easier to navigate and access with the Archbishop along. He’d come this route earlier and hadn’t had any luck, but show up with the head of the church and all the doors were suddenly open.

“Did we have to go straight to the mausoleum?” Ingrid asked, holding onto her arms as comfort.

  
Claude resisted his impulse.

Teach gestured to the entombment. “Linhardt had a point. Rhea kept a lot of secrets in the Monastery there.”

“And,” Linhardt said, eyes widening slightly as he took in the wealth of potential study, “if Rhea said that Nemesis plundered the tomb and then had the sword, perhaps he used something from the remains of the Goddess to create it.”

“Like what?” Ingrid asked, still looking completely creeped out. “Her blood?”

“Perhaps,” Linhardt said, “or organs, or spine, we’ve never autopsied a god before, so there’s no way to know what they would carry inside.”

“Uck,” Teach said, glancing at where she had the Sword of the Creator strapped.

“Wait,” Ingrid said, still gripping her arms and then stepping right in front of Claude, because fate was kind to him occasionally, “does that mean you’re planning on _opening_ the tombs here? What if you disturb something—AHH!” Ingrid shrieked and jumped out of her skin, as Claude suspected she would, when he used the feather on his arrow to touch the back of her neck.

She spun around and then looked at Claude, “That is _not_ funny!”

“Agree to disagree,” Claude said, laughing.

“Children,” Teach broke in, shooting them both a look that would’ve meant detention at the Academy. “Can we focus on the looming mystery that might break Fódlan?”

“Yes, Pro—” Ingrid started, cleared her throat and said, “Your Grace.”

“Just blowing off steam, Teach,” Claude said. “I’m sorry you were such an easy target, Ingrid.”

Ingrid glowered at him, but didn’t jump back into another lecture. She was a good student and would listen to Teach and Claude would absolutely resist the urge to do something similar, at least until they had explored some more and she wasn't expecting it.

Claude smiled at Ingrid and then followed Lin towards where he was exploring the crypt.

“You don’t really think there’s ghosts, do you?” Ingrid asked, quietly to Teach behind him.

“I don’t know if ghosts are real,” Teach said. “I heard enough about them and Mercedes can tell an incredibly convincing tale, but I’ve never actually seen one.”

“It feels wrong to interfere with a resting place,” Ingrid said, still quiet. “The people here died bravely, shouldn’t they be left alone?”

“We’re not going to smash open the tombs,” Teach assured her. And then cleared her throat. “Right, Linhardt?”

“Of course not,” Lin said, examining a very faded mural, “we wouldn’t want to damage anything worth studying.”

“Consider me reassured,” Ingrid said, dryly.

“See anything good?” Claude asked Linhardt.

He had his concentrated face on, a slight frown mixed with darkened pupils, as he lifted the light spell in his hand higher to get a better look. “I think… Gloucester, Charon, and Daphnel seem to be entombed here.”

“What?” Ingrid said, taking a sudden interest in the research portion of this expedition. “I thought Daphnel was buried in the Soumi fields of House Daphnel.”

Linhardt shrugged.

“Would make sense what with this being old Empire territory before the Kingdom and Alliance formed,” Claude said. The Eastern Church would be the closest way to the Goddess they’d have.”

Ingrid frowned, but said nothing. Claude wanted to crack her skull like an egg and see what was inside, but he resisted. Mostly because he didn’t want detention from Teach.

Teach sighed. “So I think this means we’re opening some tombs.”

“They might be empty,” Linhardt said. “If the Ten Elites were gifted crests from the Goddess, then they might also be a potential target to harvest the blood from.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “I wonder if the Children of the Goddess isn’t literal, but rather the decedents of the original beings she created.”

“I have to admit,” Claude said, “second-cousin of the Goddess doesn’t quite sound as catchy.”

Ingrid was still frowning.

“Care to share with the class?” Claude asked, and ignored Teach’s look as he stole her bit.

Ingrid sighed. “I … I think maybe if what Lady Rhea said was true about using the power of those killed to create weapons, then… what if the relics _were_ created through the same ritual?”

“That would make the case for them being complicit a lot stronger,” Claude said. It made him want to get to that secret location and dig into it even more.

“Why would they be the descendants of all the great houses?” Teach asked. “Wouldn’t Seiros have motivation not to help establish an Empire based on war criminals?”

“The Ten Elites fought in the War of Heroes,” Ingrid said. “They couldn’t possibly fight for both sides.”

“Something isn’t adding up,” Claude agreed. “We’re still missing information.” He sighed and said more quietly. “Do you think Rhea was telling the truth? I mean when talked she… kinda sounded like she was there.”

“I don’t know,” Teach said, looking as blank about it as she had when they left. “I don’t think she was lying, but she can spin half truths pretty well.”

They followed Linhardt deeper into the crypts, igniting the torches on the wall as they went, to get some of the deepening darkness back. It was chilly, stale, and silent… even Claude was getting a little worried a ghost might pop out at them.

“Ah,” Linhardt said, “I need more light.”

Claude walked towards him carrying the torch, followed by Ingrid and Teach, as he leaned over a very well kept stone casket. There was a figure carved into the stone holding the lance Ingrid was carrying.

“I really don’t like this,” Ingrid said. “It feels like spitting on my ancestors.”

“Eh, think of it as spitting on Judith’s ancestors,” Claude said, in an attempt to be reassuring. “Actually, scratch that, that might be worse.”

Linhardt was walking around the perimeter of the stone casket examining it carefully. “It appears as if the seal has worn down, we should be able to get the lid off by simply lifting from all sides.”

“And by we, you mean us?” Claude asked, already knowing the answer.

Linhardt looked away with a yawn. “I don’t think tiring me out before being able to examine the remains is the best plan.”

“Remains?” Ingrid asked, looking paler than she did when Claude spooked her.

“Hey,” Claude said, hopefully, “its been a thousand years, how well preserved could they be?”

“You know you jinxed it,” Teach said, positioning herself to one corner of the casket.

Claude sighed and went to the other side. “C’mon, Ingrid, we’re not going to be able to do this without those well-formed arms you use for carrying unreachable standards.”

Ingrid glared at him, but she came up to the casket and placed her hand on the edge of it. “I’m sorry,” she said to the stone.

It was… heavy as shit, but the three of them managed, while Linhardt looked boredly on. Claude was not proud of how much more weight Teach and Ingrid seemed to be managing, but in his defense was he used to lifting a bow and arrow, not giant stone lids. He would’ve killed for Raphael right now, the man could’ve lifted the entire thing himself with one hand. They finally worked it over towards the side and gently placed it leaning against the casket proper.

It was… empty.

“Well, that was anti-climatic,” Claude said, two seconds before Linhardt climbed into it.

“What are you doing?” Ingrid hissed.

“Examining,” Linhardt said. He peered into the sides of it and waved them over with a mutter of, “More light.”

Claude brought his torch over and Teach lit up a light spell that illuminated everything in a soft white glow. There were markings on the inside of the casket, but it didn’t look like anything Claude had seen before. “That familiar, Lin?”

“It looks a little like the symbols at the Red Canyon, but they’re more complete. I think it might be some sort of language.”

“Here rests Daphnel,” Teach said softly. “May the Goddess light their way to absolution and may all their life’s transgressions be forgiven.”

“You can read that?” Claude asked, while Linhardt looked at her like the next puzzle piece (which to be fair, she was shaping up to be).

“Apparently,” Teach said with a frown.

“That doesn’t sound like an outright accusation of Daphnel being a traitor,” Ingrid pointed out.

“It also doesn’t sound like Daphnel was squeaky clean either,” Claude countered. “And if this is the casket, which it seems like with that writing, then where the hell is the body?”

Linhardt was staring at Ingrid, no scratch that, he was staring at Ingrid’s relic, glowing dimly behind her. “If the Ten Elites had power, perhaps their blood…” He sat down in the casket and Claude was really worried he was going to take a nap. “Crests.”

“Crests?” Teach prompted.

Linhardt nodded, looking a little shellshocked. “It was so obvious, I can’t believe I took this long to figure it out.”

“Figure what out?” Ingrid asked, uneasily.

Linhardt looked up, as if he’d noticed the people he was speaking to were actually people that were there and not his working subconscious. “The Ten Elites drew power from the bodies of the Children of the Goddess slaughtered at Zanado. And we know that crests can be transmuted via blood and that specifically divine blood can create powerful weapons. Ones that… work with a crest stone, but only if the person has a crest.”

“So you think the crests weren’t gifted to them by the Goddess?” Claude asked.

“Metaphorically, perhaps.” Linhardt looked at Teach. “The illustrations I was able to find of Nemesis, the sword had a stone in it.”

“So why does it work for me without one?” Teach said. “I don’t know.”

“Divine blood,” Linhardt said simply. “If the original Ten Elite had divine blood and those that originated crests themselves had it, then you must have it as well. There would be no way for you obtain the Crest of Flames otherwise.”

“Well, I don’t remember getting a blood transfusion,” Teach said and then Claude saw it dawning on her face. She looked a little green.

He couldn’t judge her, Claude wasn’t sure how he’d feel if he’d come to the realization that someone experimented on him when he was a baby. Good for Jeralt for getting her the hell out of there when he did.

Teach swallowed and then shook her head. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “This isn’t getting us any closer to our Dance Partners. We should try and find this map location you said.”

“Potentially a temple, but the translation was vague,” Linhardt said. He was still crouched in the casket.

“Could you,” Ingrid started and then seemed pained to finish, “kindly get out of my ancestor’s grave?”

“Does it count as a grave if they’re not in it?” Linhardt asked, mostly himself.

“Let’s philosophize on that later,” Claude suggested and held his arm out so Lin could grab it and dragged him to standing, helping him out. He looked at the heavy lid still off the casket. “How cursed do you think we’ll be if we leave it like this?”

They all turned to Ingrid.

She looked uneasy with the sudden attention. “I think we should close it… to be respectful,” she said.

“I’m going to look around a bit more,” Linhardt said, and started strolling off in the other direction.

“Don’t get eaten by ghosts,” Claude called after him. He waved a bored hand in reply and kept going, the magic spell lighting his way.

Claude sighed and looked at the incredibly heavy stone lid, knowing the up was going to be harder than the down. “Well,” he said to Ingrid and Teach, “shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> later, sylvain begs dedue for tips as to how to get back in valya's good graces and is given absolutely no help & claude manages to scare ingrid again, earning a bruised arm and no sympathy from lin and byleth


	7. Ghost Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashe, with little enthusiasm, begins his mission looking for someone who appears as the Death Knight and runs into some old allies. 
> 
> (or Ashe ain't afraid of no ghosts... because they're not real... he's pretty sure)

“So,” Ashe said, “is this your first time investigating something like this?”

Mavis Crimean, a very imposing, all black wearing person, with kohl smudged over their eyes, turned to look at him and just said, “No.” Then they turned back to staring into nothing.

It had been a very long, very silent ride for what was not Ashe’s idea of a chivalrous and exciting mission.

“So you’ve…” Ashe tried to clear the stutter from his voice with a cough, “seen g-ghosts before?”

He was a Knight of the Kingdom. He was Lord of Castle Gaspard. He had fought in battles longer and harder than those in most of the stories he read. He was not afraid of… the idea of specters who could turn invisible and move through people making them feel chills.

Ashe shuddered and tightened his grip on his symbol of Seiros. He had mixed feelings about most things regarding the Church since Lonato, but he figured it would be better to stay on the safe side for this mission.

This was the perfect setting for a story about ghosts. Ashe tried to avoid those as they only added to the irrational fear that he no longer had about mystic apparitions, but the thick wet air, paired with the rustling underbrush made everything dark and… well spooky.

He’d feel better once they made their way to the village. Platt was small and underserved. Ashe felt good that they were getting attention now, even if it was for…

“Ah, um, Mavis?” Ashe said because he wasn’t sure if they had a title. He honestly wasn’t sure of anything, they’d said next to nothing the entire trip. “Do you think someone could have used magic to create an illusion that’s fooling the villagers?”

Mavis turned to look at Ashe. “Maybe,” they said and then turned back around again.

Ashe sighed and focused on directing the horses through the wooded brush on uneven terrain, rather than attempting any more conversation with someone who clearly wasn’t interested.

There was only one Inn in Platt, it was situated right at the edge of the woods, which also felt like it might have been in a story about ghosts. Ashe usually would’ve paid for one room with two beds to save money, but he gave a little extra so that Mavis could have privacy… for whatever they did. Ashe didn’t know if he wanted to know, but it was their business.

“I’m going to see if I can find the Townmaster,” Ashe said to Mavis, once they’d stabled the horses and gotten everything settled.

“Do as you please,” Mavis said and walked past him with a dramatic sweep of dark fabric.

“He’s probably at the tavern,” the innkeeper, Diedrich, said, overhearing. “This time of day, you’re not likely to get much out of him though.”

“Thanks,” Ashe said. “I really appreciate the tip.”

Diedrich looked at him blankly for a moment and Ashe was worried it was spreading, but then then innkeeper smiled and shook his head. “Kingdom Knights here. The world is very strange.”

He didn’t say it harshly, which was a relief. Ashe was expecting that this deep in former Imperial territory there might be some pushback. He knew from experience that decisions that affected the noble houses didn’t always leverage equally the further down to the common folk they went.

But, that was another reason Ashe was here, he was going to prove that the Knights of the Kingdom were upstanding, chivalrous and wouldn’t leave even a small village like Platt to be on their own.

The tavern, understandably, was near the Inn so it wasn’t too long of a walk, although the closer Ashe got to it, the louder it seemed to be. They were fairly crowded and the smells of something fried wafted through the air. Ashe wasn’t sure where to start, since most of the people crowded inside looked fairly drunk by now, but that all became irrelevant when he heard a really familiar yell.

“Yeah! Three at once, it was great!” There was no doubt that was Caspar’s voice, but he’d sided with Edelgard so Ashe had been sure he died in the war… was this another ghost?

No, that was crazy. Ashe pushed through, excusing himself as he did, until he reached the back of the tavern where Caspar, standing on his seat with one leg up on the table was demonstrating a punch maneuver to a large group.

“Caspar?” Ashe asked, even though it couldn’t have been a question given the sight of him.

“Who’s asking? You looking for a—Ashe!” Caspar hopped down off the table and rushed him. Ashe didn’t have time to react before Caspar was picking him up in a hug that felt more like a grapple. “I can’t believe it! What are you doing here?”

“Um,” Ashe said, breath knocked out of him, “I could answer better on the ground.”

“Oh right,” Caspar let him drop with a solid thump on the floor and then Ashe reached over and hugged him like a normal person would.

“I thought you were dead,” he said, already crying.

Caspar didn’t seem to know what to do, so he patted Ashe’s back. “Hey, friend! It’s okay. Uh… sorry? I just didn’t think making a lot of noise would do me any good.”

Ashe laughed and wiped his face with the back of his hand. “That is a first for you.”

Caspar slapped him hard on the shoulder and grinned at him. “Good one! What are you doing here?”

“I’m a Knight now,” Ashe said, feeling a little awkward about it. He finished wiping the tears off his face and tried straightening out a little.

“Wow! That’s great! You said you always wanted to be!”

“Yeah,” Ashe said, still feeling a little unbalanced. It had been so long that the idea of finding old friends didn’t feel real. “What are you doing here?”

“Ah, a job,” Caspar said. “After… well my father sorta is the reason I’m still around, but I didn’t really think staying and cramping my brother’s style was the right way to go, so I decided to do what I always planning on doing anyway and search out ways to help people and get into the best fights!”

“So you’re looking for a fight?” Ashe asked.

Caspar laughed “Ha! Always, but no. I joined up with a mercenary crew, it’s been great. We got hired on for some weird stuff happening in town. Count Hevring hasn’t really done anything, so we’re helping out.” He looked Ashe up and down and settled his eyes on the Blaiddyd symbol on his armor. “Hey, is that why you’re here too?”

“Could be,” Ashe said. “I was looking for the Townmaster, Karl Meier, Hevring requested our assistance … in a matter of strange activity.” If he didn’t say ghosts maybe there wouldn’t be any.

“Ah! Yeah! We are on the same team! That’s great!” Caspar stretched his arms out in a punch to the air. “That Karl guy is over there,” he said gesturing towards the other side of the bar. “Probably losing that drinking contest.”

“Drinking contest?” Ashe asked, but an explosion of cheers from the direction Caspar pointed erupted drawing his attention. Leonie Pinelli was lifting a large empty stein up into the air. She’d shaved half the hair off the side of her head, the other half hung down loosely in a braid that had come undone and was partially wet, likely from beer.

Most of the people surrounding her yelled out in unison with their own steins raised up. “Hear it for the Blade Breaker!”

“Yeah,” Caspar said, shaking his head. “Like I said, losing.”

“Is Leonie a mercenary too?” Ashe asked. He hadn’t spent too much time with her at school, the few occasions they ran into each other she’d usually left angrily past him, leaving the Professor looking really confused. He really only knew she liked Captain Jeralt, which everyone knew, because she said it a lot.

“She’s the leader,” Caspar said. “I don’t mind. She can pick the strategy and stuff and I get to do what I do best!”

“I guess I should talk to her?” Ashe couldn’t help but look at Caspar, reminding himself that his friend wasn’t actually dead. “Um, I didn’t know her that well, do you think you could reintroduce me? I don’t want to be rude if we end up working together.”

“Ha! Like Leonie cares about that. But yeah, I can do that.”

They walked together through the crowded room, but it was easier with Caspar doing the shoving, even though Ashe felt compelled to excuse both of them and apologize as they went.

“Hey! Leonie!” Caspar shouted, even though they’d gotten close enough he could have talked in his normal voice (which was also pretty loud). “This is Ashe!”

He gestured in Ashe’s direction.

Leonie scoffed. “I know who he is. You were in the Blue Lions. I tracked your whole class to see how Byleth was training compared to Jeralt.” She snorted and wobbled a little, before catching herself on the table and leaning against it. “And I was kind of friends with Felix. Caught him in a pit trap once.” She smiled at the memory and then belched into her first.

“You what?” Ashe asked and then realized he probably didn’t need to know. He glanced over at the table, seated on the other side of it was probably the Townmaster, snoring on his outstretched arms, with half a stein left of his own drink.

“I guess I’m not going to be talking to him tonight,” Ashe said.

“Ashe is here for our weird stuff job,” Caspar said. “It’ll be really bad if it ends up being nothing. I wanna try fighting a disappearing monster.”

Leonie looked Ashe up and down in a much more suspicious way than Caspar had. “Hm. I suppose that’s fine. As long as you’re not taking a cut.”

“I’m a Knight,” Ashe said. “I wouldn’t charge for help.” He looked at her. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Being a mercenary is a very stable profession.”

Or so he heard.

“Right,” Leonie said. She put her empty stein down on the table. “Well, we can fill you in, since Karl’s not getting up anytime soon.” She stretched her arms out and cracked her neck. “Going out, don’t blow up my tab,” she yelled at the people at the table. All but the Townmaster replied in the affirmative… he remained snoring.

Leonie didn’t even have to push her way through the crowd, they stepped aside as she walked (none too steadily) towards the door. “Is she okay?” Ashe asked Caspar.

“Leonie?” Caspar laughed. “Yeah, this is a regular weekday event.”

Ashe wasn’t sure he was going to get much information from her if she was that inebriated, but his other option was to go back to his room and wait until the morning. Remembering that he’d gotten separate rooms for him and Mavis, Ashe was relieved all over again.

“So?” Leonie said, once they were outside the tavern. “What’d they tell you?”

“Not much,” Ashe said. “There were rumors about monsters appearing and disappearing near here and … someone might be imitating the Death Knight.”

That was the reasonable explanation. Anything else was too much to think about… not even about ghosts, but the idea that the actual Death Knight was back was not something he wanted to consider as an option. He still remembered the Professor bleeding from the side, open gaping wound, spilling black blood. There’d been a good hour where they weren’t sure she was going to make it.

Ashe didn’t want to be happy anyone was dead, but he wasn’t upset about it either.

“They think it’s spirits or the Death Knight is some new god of death,” Leonie said. “Angry dead ones that are riled up because of the war. I don’t know why they’d wait this long to do something about it, but it’s worth the angle.”

“We thought there might be a … supernatural element tied to it, so I have a dark magic expert with me.” Ashe cleared his throat. “They’re… ah meditating I think.”

“I guess that could come in handy, we don’t have many magic users in the group,” Leonie said thoughtfully, and fairly coherently considering.

“I wonder what fighting a ghost would be like,” Caspar said, tilting his head as if he was picturing it.

Ashe couldn’t help but smile at the familiarity, until he thought about the actual comment. “Ah… you know it’s probably not ghosts.”

“Wouldn’t rule it out,” Leonie said. “Weirder stuff has happened.”

“Have you seen a ghost?”

“Not that I know of,” Leonie said. “But, my mentor told me to be prepared for anything, it’s the only reason I survived the war.” She smiled a little sadly.

“Her mentor was Jeralt,” Caspar said.

“I know,” Ashe said.

“The Professor’s father,” Caspar added.

“I… also know that,” Ashe said.

“Leonie was his very first apprentice,” Caspar also added and Ashe realized he was looking at Leonie and that he was trying not to laugh.

“Shut it,” she said. “I know… okay. I talked a lot about him. Give me a break. He’s my reason for doing a lot of things and I was a kid at a school surrounded by people I didn’t know. It was nice to have one thing that was familiar.” She kicked at the ground. “How is Jeralt’s kid doing?” Leonie asked. “I suppose I should’ve kept up on her… considering I—” She shook her head.  
  
“Oh? Ah, well she’s the Archbishop now… which is probably something you know,” Ashe realized and suddenly couldn’t think of anything interesting to say, even if he saw her quite frequently when he was at the capital. “She’s got two children.”

Leonie sighed. “I live in the Kingdom, I know that. I meant … is she doing well? You know, like happy or whatever?”

“I’d say,” Ashe said. “Yeah.” Really she’d seemed happier more and more every year, not at all like the flat distant person who’d sorta scared him when she stared teaching their class, or even the taciturn instructor who he’d grown to rely on. He was pretty sure everyone was happy, if they weren’t they hadn’t told him.

“Good,” Leonie said, nodding, “Good.” She cleared her throat. “We’re headed out to the last site someone reported the Death Knight first thing in the morning. He’s been… obviously appearing at night, but I don’t want to scout the place when its dark and get ambushed.”

Ashe nodded. “Good decision. So it’s alright if I… I mean if we come along?”

Leonie nodded. “Yeah, like I said, you’re not taking a cut, so we’ll accept the help.”

“Ha!” Caspar clapped a hand on Ashe’s shoulder, rattling him a little. “Back in action, just like the old days! Remember when we caught that thief?”

“It was a cat,” Ashe said, smiling, because he did remember and once again reminded that Caspar wasn’t dead, by the weight of his hand on his shoulder.

“Still a thief,” Caspar said with a shrug. He frowned. “Hope the little guy is okay.”

“He is… or she is,” Ashe said. “She had kittens.”

“Really?” Caspar’s entire face lit up. “That’s great!”

“I’m going back in,” Leonie said. “Need to make sure they’re not running up my tab.”

Ashe suspected she was going to drink more, but he felt it would be impolite to say so. He waited until Leonie had walked away from them and disappeared into the tavern to turn back to Caspar. “I’m sorry about your father,” he said.

“Ah, it was ages ago,” Caspar said, looking away. He dropped his hand from Ashe’s shoulder and rubbed the back of his neck. “Really didn’t expect him to sacrifice himself for all of us, but…” He shook his head, like he was shaking off the memory. “It’s in the past. I’m looking forward. Gotta prepare for the next thing.”

“I’m really glad you’re alive, Caspar,” Ashe said, feeling like he might start crying again.

“Aw, yeah well,” Caspar shrugged and slapped his hand on Ashe’s shoulder. “Sorry, I made you think I wasn’t. I didn’t really think anyone noticed.”

“It’s all right,” Ashe said. “Maybe I should’ve looked for you instead of assuming, but…” There were so many of their old friends who’d died. Some of them… like Lonato… he’d helped along.

“Hey,” Caspar shook Ashe a little with the hand on his shoulder. “It’s peacetime now. We’ve got to make our own fights instead of getting involved in wars. No use worrying about something that already happened.”

“I guess you’re right,” Ashe said. He smiled at him and put his hand on Caspar’s over his shoulder, squeezing it for a second and accepting that this was actually real.

Caspar grinned at him. “Yeah! And now we get to fight some ghosts!”

Ashe felt his stomach curdle. “Hurray.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> meanwhile, thief cat prowls the monastery and teachers her litter how to steal from the pantry


	8. Bane of Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix returns from his mission, not pleased with what he returns to and Byleth, Claude, Ingrid, and Linhardt attempt to make their way towards the hidden temple. 
> 
> (or no one is phased by felix and maaaaaybe this wasn't the best travel plan after all)

Felix was irritated, sore, and covered in mud by the time he road back to the palace. Two days of searching for the source of why food stores kept mysteriously disappearing and it turned out some _stupid_ kids were feeding a Giant Wolf in the clearing behind Halmid. He usually would’ve been grateful for an opportunity to challenge himself and make sure his blade skills were still sharp, but the kids had been there and keeping their stupid fragile little bodies from getting killed was an incredibly — irritating.

After he stabled his horse, he made his way immediately for the baths, and thankfully Sylvain wasn’t still loafing in bed so he had time to actually get dressed in not-wolf-bile-covered clothes that he was going to have to throw out.

He was starving, so he made his way to the Great Hall and saw Mercedes of all people, looking over a table filled with desserts, still too early to have been picked clean. “Didn’t we just see you?” Felix asked.

Mercedes turned towards him and smiled. “Felix! Oh, yes, but that visit was awfully short and it was either come now or come in the winter. I don’t mind the snow too much, but Dedue seems more comfortable in lower altitudes, even if he’d never complain. Besides, it’s his birthday at the end of the month and he wouldn’t want to spend it anywhere else.”

“Won’t the school miss you?” Felix asked.

“Oh no, the teachers we’ve trained have been doing an excellent job,” Mercedes said, beaming. “We were already thinking about helping with an expansion.”

Felix shook his head and made an amused scoff. “Of course you are.”

She smiled at him. “Were you looking for Sylvain? I spoke with him earlier, I think he’s still in the hall.”

Felix hadn’t been looking for Sylvain, although now that she said it, he found his eyes roaming the hall for any sign of his husband’s messy red hair. He was, as he usually was, expanding the definition of sitting at one of the benches.

And he was flirting.

Judging by the way she was dressed, Felix didn’t think she was a noble or a guest he was trying to charm, so that meant it was Sylvain being bored. He watched Sylvain flick her hair out of the way of her face and she swatted his hand, smiling slightly and shaking her head as she went back to her meal. He was lounging on the bench with an easy, lazy smile, like a sated cat.

Felix didn’t get jealous, he’d broken that habit, watching Sylvain plow through an abundance of women during their academy days, but he did get annoyed. Especially since he didn’t know who that was.

“Who is that?” Felix asked, Mercedes.

Mercedes looked for a moment before she saw who Felix was talking about. “Oh, that’s the prince’s new music tutor, Genevieve. I spoke to her earlier and was sure that I had seen her before at the Royal School of Sorcery, but I must’ve thought she was someone else.”

“Really,” Felix said, feeling irritation build into justifiable anger.

“Yes,” Mercedes said. “Anyway, she seemed very knowledgable for how little we talked. I’ve been thinking since the last time I spoke with Dorothea that an arts component might be good to add to the curriculum, especially with all the traditional Duscur styles that have been displaced.” She giggled. “And Glenn seems _very_ taken with her.”

Felix shifted his jaw and then turned around, striding straight towards the idiot king who needed to be strangled.

“Nice to see you again, Felix,” Mercedes called to his retreating back.

He’d had to take this route every day for the past six years and at least half the time it was to shake the stupid _savior_ king until sense reentered his head. He ignored the servants that pathetically skipped aside like he was planning on running into them.

“What is wrong with you?” Felix demanded, slamming the door to Dimitri’s office behind him.

Dimitri looked up at him and blinked. “Hello, Felix, what can I do for you?”

“You—” Felix made a quick estimate of the room, making sure no one else was there. “There’s an enemy that can and _has_ replaced people and you hire some new tutor off the street?”

Dimitri frowned, but as usual it wasn’t for the right reason. “She told you?” Then he shook his head and answered his own question in a lower tone. “Of course she did. Felix, I didn’t hire someone off the street, Dorothea recommended her.”

“Right, like she’s a good judge of character.”

“I’ll let Ingrid know you said that,” Dimitri said, and he had the nerve to be amused.

“Take this seriously,” Felix snapped.

Dimitri sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Is it the timing or her person that bothers you?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes,” Dimitri said. “I’m well aware of the dangers, especially given the circumstances, but there are too many moving parts in the palace and the Kingdom to put everything on hold.”

That was irritating, mostly because it was right. “Did you at least look into her background beyond Dorothea once walking past her?”

“Of course I did. She’s from the County of Rowe and has worked for the orchestras of several theatre companies, with a fairly impressive list of instruments,” Dimitri said, seeming a little too impressed with her background.

Then Dimitri narrowed his eyes, it was a very specific look that annoyed the hell out of Felix, because he’d been doing it their whole lives. It was the ‘Dimitri knows Felix better than anyone and Felix isn’t actually saying what he means’ look. “Did everything go all right in Halmid?”

Felix let out a breath that wasn’t as steady as he would have liked. It made him angry all over again. “It’s taken care of.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Whatever,” Felix snapped. “It went fine. I’m back. They have food stores. Just make sure you don’t put out the welcome mat for anymore enemies.” He turned and walked out of the office, ignoring Dimitri’s “Any _more_?”

Stupid Dimitri. There of course had to be a _reason_ to be cautious, because the default was lying on your back waiting for someone to cut you open. It was pathetic. Felix couldn’t count how many times he’d been right about something like this and everyone had ignored him until they were surrounded.

He found himself walking towards the Grand Hall again and kept going until he was over by where Sylvain was still sitting. His husband startled a little at him appearing and then grinned, “Felix!” He patted the bench next to him. “I didn’t know you were back yet! Come meet Glenn’s future bride.”

“Genevieve,” the woman said, with a wry look in Sylvain’s direction. “The prince’s new music tutor. You must be the—”

“Do you think that’s appropriate,” Felix asked, cutting her off, “to encourage that kind of infatuation?”

She raised dark eyebrows. “Well, he’s _five_ , so if it’s still a problem in twenty years, I’ll let him down easy.”

“It’s gotta be motivating too,” Sylvain said, “I know I’d have gotten a lot more work done if my tutors looked like you, Gen.”

It couldn’t have been more than two days since she’d been hired and already ingratiated herself and no one was suspicious. Felix was surrounded by idiots.

 _Gen_ rolled her eyes and then glanced at Felix, with an unreadable expression. She lifted herself up from the other side of the table, picking up her mostly empty plate of food. “I’ll let you two catch up. Nice talking to you, Sylvain.”

“Anytime,” Sylvain said, waving at her. “I know the ins and outs of this place, remember that.”

Felix watched her walk to deliver her empty plate to the kitchen staff and then head in Mercedes direction, before stopping suddenly and then making a sharp immediate turn towards the other exit. He clenched his fist and watched her leave.

“Soooo,” Sylvain said. “Is this how we’re greeting all the new hires now, or are we suddenly against anything musical in the castle?”

“I don’t like her,” Felix said.

“Well,” Sylvain said, putting an arm around Felix, “to be fair, baby, you don’t like anyone.”

“Yeah and you like everyone,” Felix said, too tired to shrug off his arm.

Sylvain leaned in. “Are you jealous, because that’s … _adorable_.”

Felix jerked his head around towards him. “Are you trying to get me to stab you with a dinner knife?”

“No,” Sylvain said. “I’m trying to figure out what kind of demonic beast crawled up your ass.” He pressed his hand down on Felix’s shoulder and squeezed. “Seriously, you seem… angry, but not normal Felix angry.”

“I can’t be cautious about people we invite into the crown prince’s life without there being a good enough reason for you, right?” Felix snapped, he started to lift himself up off the bench, but Sylvain’s arm pressed him down.

“You want to go for a walk?” Sylvain asked.And then when Felix didn’t answer, he sighed heavily. “Do you want to spar?”

Felix shrugged and then nodded his head. Sylvain dragged himself up off the bench, waiting for Felix to do the same and then left his plate on the table. Felix was too wound up to say anything. He didn’t feel like saying anything at all, until they got to the training grounds, and he grabbed a training sword.

Sylvain grabbed a lance and went straight for him. It was easier focusing on this. Felix dodged the bullrush Sylvain called an advance, feeling the air shift as he passed him and then brought his sword around. Sylvain caught it with his lance and used strength over skill, because he hadn’t been keeping up on his training. Felix was too angry to counter well enough or he would’ve taken him down already.

He broke the block and swung his sword back and then around to hit Sylvain’s side. It landed, but then Sylvain grabbed his sword arm and tried wringing it backwards so he’d drop, which only succeeded in Felix grunting and kicking his shin so his leg gave out.

Sylvain yelped, and fell backwards, losing his grip on Felix’s arm. “How is that fair!”

Felix paced, waiting for him to get up again. Sylvain stared up at him, studying him, and then got to his feet. He picked the lance up again and got into a defensive stance. Felix went at him. Sylvain focused and blocked, so that Felix could feel every muscle in his arm flex with pressure as he strained his limits, pressing against the full weight of Sylvain and a heavier weapon. He hit again and again, and again, all the while Sylvain did nothing but block.

Finally, Felix was overextended (weak) and threw his sword down, clattering across the room, and turned around walking towards the wall, wondering if he could pitch himself through it.

He heard Sylvain behind him, breathing pretty heavily himself, walking intentionally slow and loud so Felix could know he was approaching. Then he put his hands on Felix’s shoulders.

“So?” was all he said.

Felix closed his eyes. “One of the kids got hurt. I wasn’t… fast enough. He didn’t die, but… he lost an arm.”

Sylvain took that as permission to wrap his entire stupid giant body around Felix. He was covered in sweat and uncomfortably putting most of his weight on Felix, it was like being wrapped up in a wet (and heavy) blanket.

Felix leaned back into him.

“I should’ve seen it coming,” Felix said, closing his eyes and seeing it play out before him again. It would’ve been better to lead the beast out of their range as far as possible before engaging it. He shouldn’t have trusted dumb kids who were stupid enough to feed the thing would also listen when Felix told them to get the hell out of there.

Sylvain kissed the back of his head, then his temple, and then rested his chin on Felix’s shoulder. He had to look ridiculous hunched over like that.

“It doesn’t mean I’m not right,” Felix said, though a lot of the heat and anger had been beaten out of him during the fight. “Something about her bothers me.”

“Okay,” Sylvain said. “I will keep an eye on her.”

“I bet you will,” Felix muttered.

“So you _are_ jealous?” Sylvain laughed and squeezed Felix, like he knew he was about to get an elbow to the middle of his stomach. They’d known each other too long. “You know you’re not responsible for every bad thing that happens after the war is over,” Sylvain murmured into his neck. “If you hadn’t been there the kid would probably be dead.”

Or if he’d gone the first _time_ they’d asked about the food stores, instead of relying on his uncle’s men who hadn’t found anything tangible maybe the kid would be perfectly fine.

“I hate being the Duke.” It should’ve been Glenn or his father, but they both decided dying was easier.

“Running off to be sell swords is still on the table,” Sylvain said, then frowned against Felix’s neck. “I mean, you, I’d be… the person who makes the sales. Since you know… you’re not a people person.”

Felix breathed in the sweat and effort of their spar and leaned his head slightly so his cheek was resting against Sylvain’s. “Do me a favor and be less immediately trusting of people.”

“All people or attractive people?” Sylvain asked. Felix stepped his foot hard. “Ow! Okay,” Sylvain laughed. “I’ll be more suspicious, happy?”

“Yes,” Felix said, and then brought his hands up to rest on Sylvain’s arms, still suffocatingly draped around him.“Thanks… for the spar. You’re out of shape.”

“Well, it isn’t my preferred way to work out tension, but it seemed like the thing to do and I’m ignoring the second thing you said,” Sylvain emphasized his point by biting the juncture where Felix’s neck met his shoulder.

Usually Felix would accept that challenge (they’d honestly defiled the training grounds too many times to not have been caught more than twice), but he was bone tired now that he’d let some of the anger go that was keeping him upright on the entire ride back. “… can we go back to the room and sleep?”

“You’re making it up to me in the morning,” Sylvain threatened, but there was nothing behind it. He kept his arm around Felix the entire walk back to their rooms and hummed under his breath, like everything in the world was fine. Sylvain’s hand worked up and down Felix’s bicep in an easy pattern until they finally got to the door and Sylvain opened it for him and bowed with a flourish.

“Idiot,” Felix said, fondly. Sylvain smiled him in response, but Felix couldn’t look at him so he turned away and got out of enough of his clean clothes to not be uncomfortably swamped in bed. Sylvain helped him with most of it, taking his boots off, and unclasping his jacket, nothing seductive, just that contented hum.

It was still pretty early to be turning in and Sylvain couldn’t be tired, but he didn’t complain and undressed in a similar fashion, pulling Felix in towards him once they’re both under the covers. He wrapped his arms around Felix like he did in the training grounds and nuzzled his nose into the back of his hair.

Felix wanted to say a lot of things, soft things, nice things that Sylvain liked to say and would probably have liked to hear, but as always they died in the back of his throat, unwilling to rise.

* * *

Almyra was hotter than Byleth was expecting. She was lucky she’d cut her hair; it seemed that this far south, the weather didn’t start to shift towards cool autumn breezes yet. Ingrid, born and raised in the icicle land Byleth still couldn’t stand on some winter days, took it stoically but after years of knowing and fighting alongside each other, Byleth could tell she was uncomfortable. It didn’t help that they’d let her pegasus and Claude’s wyvern fly behind them and were walking on foot so they would be less likely to be seen.

Linhardt complained a few times and kept tying his hair back in lopsided messy buns, until Claude offered to braid it and Linhardt was distracted by the map he’d found. Byleth thought it looked like gibberish, but so far the other leads had panned out.

It was nice to focus on finding a secret hidden temple, rather than the possibility that Rhea had done something to her blood when she was a baby and that maybe her mother hadn’t died in childbirth naturally after all. Byleth wasn’t sure she still wanted answers if this was going to be the result.

“Sorry I didn’t show you around a little more,” Claude said. “But I figured keeping our movement outside of the more well traversed areas would be better.”

“It’s fine,” Byleth said. “I’ve been here. The food’s good.”

Claude raised his eyebrows in surprise and then gave her an assessing look. “Jeralt must’ve been as good as his reputation if you found work here.”

“He was,” Byleth said.

She remembered the smells of spices that caught her interest and that when her father observed that he bought her practically every food item from every booth, until even she felt full. She remembered the music too and the more colorful dress of the people there. It had been one of the first times they’d been somewhere that she could see a difference.

Byleth wished that any of what they were doing would bring her father back, but maybe it would at least allow him to rest easy.

“We need to go southeast,” Linhardt said and then squinted at his map and turned it around. “No, northwest…”

“Those are very different directions,” Ingrid said.

“An astute observation,” Linhardt said boredly. “I think based on the landmarks here and the descriptions we should be close.”

For as distractible as he seemed to be, he wasn’t wrong, they only walked a few more minutes before a long stretch of canyon, covered in bramble, grass, and vines that obscured how deep it went was before them.

“Its not… _in_ that is it?” Ingrid asked.

Claude winced. “Yeah, Lin. Hoping for some good news about secret temples that don’t require us to cliff dive into the unknown.”

Linhardt walked to the edge of the cliffside, looked down, looked across it, turned around and looked at the map. Then he flipped it upside down again and took out his notebook and started writing things down.

Byleth and Ingrid both shot Claude a look, but he made a gesture for them to wait.

After what seemed like an eternity, Linhardt looked up again. “We’d have to cross it and then go deeper, I think, it may be easier to approach from the Locket.”

“No,” Claude said quickly. “No, we don’t need to do that.”

Byleth stared at him suspiciously. “Why are you so against going through there?”

“I’m not against it, Teach,” Claude said, not meeting her eyes. “I just think that we’re already here, we have two fantastic fliers, so why waste time going all the way back around again?”

Ingrid sighed and the words seemed like they pained her. “Claude has a point.”

Linhardt rolled his map up and put away his notebook shaking his head. “I suppose we are going with the rush in the quickest way approach rather than one that won’t be exhausting. How novel.”

“It won’t be that bad,” Claude said. “You can sit in front and take a nap.”

Linhardt seemed to contemplate that. While he was doing that Byleth walked towards Ingrid and helped her signal the fliers back down. It was a fairly wide canyon, filled with a lot more greenery than she would’ve expected, even if there was a thicket that felt like a jungle surrounding the border, but it shouldn’t have been too much of a problem to cross it.

It _shouldn’t_ have been too much of a problem to cross it.

Once they were too far to easily turn back and nowhere near close enough to get to the other side a pair of Giant Birds seemed to appear from nowhere. Byleth had fought this type of creature before, but generally not midair and from a surprise attack, so while Ingrid was able to quickly direct her pegasus away from its claws, Byleth was unprepared for the gargantuan wing of the other one throwing her off the saddle.

“Professor!” Ingrid called, but anything else she might have said was lost to the sheer sting of wind in Byleth’s ears as she fell.

 _Not again. Not again._ Byleth panicked and couldn’t think straight, only remembering the long deep fall that had taken five years from her, and the extremely painful landing that she only survived because of Sothis and whatever Rhea did to her.

She scrambled her hands out trying to grasp at anything as she continued to free fall down into the unknown, but each piece of greenery she managed to snag onto slipped painfully out of her hands or snapped loose, falling with her.

A single moment of clarity when Byleth thought about losing five more years without her family and then she held her breath and focused, spinning back the wheels of time in a way she hadn’t done since the war. The feeling of falling shifted to floating and Byleth regained the last few minutes and could now replace them with something else.

“Ingrid, move,” she said quickly, seconds before the Giant Birds reappeared.

Ingrid, her reliable and perfect knight, didn’t hesitate and moved her pegasus immediately so that it missed the screaming caw of two magic tainted vultures that emerged out from somewhere in the tangle of vines and darkness she’d fallen into.

“Fall back,” Byleth called out to Claude, who was already armed with his bow and releasing an arrow that flew out almost the same time she finished speaking.

It hit one of them, but it didn’t make much of an impact, which was not good as Byleth couldn’t prepare a quick strategy for combat flying above a canyon with Giant Birds that were resistant to _arrows_.

“Well, shit,” Claude said, coming to the same conclusion and turning his wyvern around. Linhardt had woken up and looked ill as he clung to the pommel of the saddle.

The birds pursued them, but Byleth (now that they had ground beneath them) jumped off the back of the pegasus and drew her sword before she realized the creatures had stopped once she and the others reached the other side of the canyon.

Ingrid unmounted and gave attention to her pegasus, who was strained from pursuit. Claude was also patting his wyvern. Linhardt had gone off towards a tree to apparently vomit.

“I don’t think we’re getting through this way,” Byleth said.

“If you hadn’t warned me,” Ingrid said, shaking her head. “I didn’t even see them.”

“Me neither, you’ve got great eyes, Teach,” Claude said, still staring out into the distance as the Giant Birds flew in menacing circles as if they were taunting them to try again.

“Yeah,” Byleth said. She was tempted to tell them about the divine pulse, but held back. She really didn’t think it would help their investigation, since nothing related to it had come up so far. And it was already painful enough for her to know that things could be reset, but not all — and to make the awful choices like between saving one old friend over the other. No one else needed that.

“Is Linhardt okay?” Ingrid asked.

Claude glanced over his shoulder where Linhardt was still retching. “Yeah… let’s give him a minute.” He scratched the back of his head. “I kind of promised I wouldn’t make him engage in combat, so this presents a problem.”

“We’ll have to go through Fódlan’s Locket,” Byleth said. “If we run into these things again, at least we’d have a better vantage point and some defenses.”

“I—I mean or we could…” Claude started and then made a face and paced for a second and then threw his hands up. “Yes, okay—yeah, fine.” Then he said something in a language Byleth didn’t know, but in a tone that made it clear it was swearing.

“Why don’t you want to go through there?” Byleth asked.

Claude looked at her sideways. “Ah, it’s not so much about want, it’s … ability to go through there.”

Byleth didn’t understand. “Have there been some breakdown in the Almyran relations here that I didn’t know about?”

“No,” Claude said. “Just one Almyran.” He sighed heavily and ran his hands through his hair. “We need another small detour, but it’s on the way.”

“What did you do?” Ingrid asked, from where she was still tending to her pegasus.

“Nothing!” Claude said, a little too defensively. “But not everyone thinks of it that way and may have told their brother who may have snipers waiting for me if I ever show up by the border again.”

Ingrid gave Claude a look she usually reserved for Sylvain and shook her head. “Really?”

“It’s not like that,” Claude said and then paused and tapped his finger against his jacket. “It’s… maybe a little like that, but mostly it’s complicated. And Hilda is stubborn. But… I’m sure we can convince her this is for a good cause.”

Ingrid looked up towards the sky, as if praying to the Goddess for strength, presumably for her lot in life of cleaning up after men. Byleth didn’t have the heart to tell her no one was going to answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> meanwhile, dimitri goes out of his way to have a meal with his saner and calm friends dedue and mercedes & hilda gets the feeling people are talking about her, but she figures that's always true and ignores it


	9. Rose-Colored Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude seeks permission from his old second in command so that they can pass through Fódlan's Locket, but Hilda may not be inclined to give it.
> 
> (or Hilda! Hilda!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part 2 of justice for bi claude

Well, at least Hilda was laughing, that was… maybe a good sign. Maybe a better sign if she wasn’t laughing quite so hard at his request.

“It’s… good to see you’re taking this well?” Claude tried.

Definitely not the right tactic, because the laugh quickly faded and Hilda moved her hands to her hips, with a look that was a bad sign. “Are you _nuts_? Why would I ever help you with _anything_?”

“Nostalgia?” Claude offered, “A real stroke of human decency. Being incredibly strong of character. I could keep going.”

“I’m sure you could,” Hilda said. She was rarely angry, usually feeling as if that emotion wasn’t worth the effort, but Claude could see how upset she was. Maybe it was time, or maybe he’d actually pissed her off as bad as he hoped he hadn’t.

“Look,” Claude said. “I know we have … a history and that it didn’t end well, but this is a really important mission and getting your help would be invaluable.”

Hilda scoffed, “Oh get over yourself, I don’t care that we broke up. That was like years ago.” She gestured around her to the hustling Artisan’s Academy, that she’d clearly put the most effort of her life into. The hall they were in stretched into a series of classrooms, each decorated in a fashion that looked like even the wood was artisanal. There were all ages of students moving in and out of the classrooms, covered in pain, yarn wrapped around their fingers, or holding sharp tools. No one was here that didn’t want to be, which for Fódlan was kind of amazing. “I’m fine.”

“I can see that,” Claude said. Of course now he was stumped as to what did piss her off, which definitely put him at a disadvantage in this negotiation. “If it’s not me leaving, then what was it?”

Hilda threw her hands up into the air. “It was the _way_ you left!” She looked behind Claude, where sadly, Teach and Ingrid had not agreed to wait with the fliers and were standing there overhearing everything. Hilda’s hands kept gesturing, wildly, so much that Claude had to take a step back. “You walked off in the middle of a battlefield, where we were all getting patched up and then disappeared without even a letter!”

“I sent one,” Claude said, feeling more than moderately guilty, “eventually.” He remembered, however, that he _did_ have a very good reason for leaving. “Hilda, if I hadn’t left we would’ve had a power struggle within the Alliance and still been kept divided. You know how hard it was to balance things.”

She’d been there by his side helping him for the most part. He thought if anyone understood when something took actual effort even if it didn’t look like, it was Hilda.

“That is _so_ not the only reason you left and you know it,” Hilda said.

She’d gotten him there. It had been a lot easier to walk away from it all than to stay, knowing that everything he’d set his life towards, the dreams of open borders and finally people seeing each other as equals, was dead. Claude knew what heartbreak was, because it was getting his dreams smashed into dust.

“I had plans.”

“Yeah I know,” Hilda said, testily. “You always have plans. You always have schemes and reasons and tactics and we all _stayed_ because of you. I almost _died_ in Derdriu.”

“I counted on you retreating,” he said. He’d put that into his strategy for combat, big axe, tiny girl, good distraction. He never expected Hilda to dig her heels in and refuse to give.

“Then you didn’t know me as well as you thought you did.”

She shook her fist at him, but it wasn’t as threatening without an axe in it. “You didn’t know anything as well as you thought you did. You know if you’d—” Hilda’s voice had been reaching it’s peak and there was no way everyone wasn’t hearing what she was saying but she suddenly dropped all the anger from her face. When Claude glanced at what she was looking at, he saw a student approaching her. Hilda leaned down to his level, beaming. “Erik! That is so good. I love the articulation on the joints. You are really talented, you know that?”

Erik, the student, who couldn’t have been older than Cyril was when the war started, beamed back at her, holding a fabricated figure that may have been a doll. Then Hilda stood up again and slipped right back into it and the kid smartly kept walking.

“If you had _talked_ to us, shared your strategy and secrets, Claude instead of acting like you were the only one who keep all the knowledge of the world in your brain, things could’ve been different!”

“I didn’t have that many secrets,” Claude said. At Hilda’s look he qualified, “Fine, but it wasn’t easy keeping us from picking sides, Hilda. It wasn’t as if I was slacking off and letting things happen.”

“Yeah, I _know_ that,” she said, then she raised her chin and shot him a steady look, “but if you’d told _us_ what you were planning, maybe Lorenz wouldn’t be dead.”

That… was a low blow. “That is not fair,” Claude said. “I told him not to engage directly with the Kingdom Forces.” But Lorenz, being Lorenz, hadn’t listened.

“You didn’t tell him why!” Hilda said, her voice raising another decibel somehow. “If you’d explained things, he would’ve understood and — ugh, you’re such a hypocrite. You don’t trust anyone, but you will say anything to get them to trust you if it’ll help you in someway.”

“That’s a bit much,” Claude said. “It wasn’t like I was puppet master of the entire war. I did what I could and you can’t blame me for every casualty.” There were too many to count and Claude had spent months going over it all wondering what he could’ve done differently to make a different result, but in the end, it wasn’t going to change what happened and it, like wallowing in the upset of the end of his dream, wasn’t going to do anything about the future.

“You didn’t even say goodbye,” Hilda said, it was hard to tell how much of the sharpness in her words were from hurt or anger. “You didn’t even check up on us after the war was over! Do you even know what we’ve been up to?”

“I’m here aren’t I?”

“Right, because you _need_ something,” Hilda said. “It’s always some big secret plan that we have to trust you for, like why do you need to go through the Locket?”

Claude was silent for longer than he would have liked. “I… can’t tell you.” Hilda rolled her eyes and spun on heel walking towards the hall. He had much longer legs so it wasn’t difficult to catch up and get in front of her. “Hil, it’s important, life or death stuff. I would tell you if I could.”

She stared at him for a moment, assessing cool rosey eyes that always played dumber than they were. “Why can’t you?”

The real answer was, unfortunately, that he didn’t trust her to keep the information secret. Even if she tried, Hilda would probably end up slipping it to someone she trusted and then it would travel to someone else they trusted and so and so forth, until the only benefit they had (that their Dance Partners didn’t know they were looking) would be completely trashed.

As always, a lie was easier when there was a sliver of truth to it. “Because I don’t want you to get hurt. Know that this is dangerous and I’d rather think about you being a headmaster and cheering on little kids than getting involved in something that could end what you built here.”

“They’re not all kids,” Hilda said. That was not a yes, but it also wasn’t a no, so that meant Claude needed to work for it a little more.

“I know, you’ve got a really diverse group here. It’s… amazing actually.” None of that was even close to a lie.

Hilda, who had always been better than anyone at reading him, softened a hair. “Marianne’s been helping me,” she said primly. “She’s gotten a lot more confident.”

“I saw her with the horses, she’s doing great it looks like.”

“You know, Ignatz could’ve taught here, but he decided to go help his family business. Raphael did too. They both dropped their dreams… Leonie is like, a mercenary or whatever, and Lysithea was doing some big study thing and is probably going to start teaching, which is not what she pictured either,” she said, “but they still managed to keep in touch and not wait three frigging years to send a break up letter!”

Claude put his hands together, pressed them to his lips and then gestured down with him. “Once again, absolutely a dick move on my part, it was a turbulent time and I’d put everything behind me so far that I wasn’t thinking…”

“About anyone but yourself,” Hilda finished for him. “Like right now, where you _think_ you’re apologizing, but it’s actually just an excuse.”

She shook her head, pink hair flew out the elaborate knot she’d put it into, pinned with little golden pinwheels and delicate flowers that could only have been made by her own hands. She turned back around and walked away from him in the other direction. Before he could try and stop her, she went towards Teach and Ingrid. “So, it’s really important?”

“Yes,” Teach said, as loquacious as ever.

Hilda crossed her arms under her chest, which only managed to lift her breasts up in her corset, which he had to think she was doing on purpose as leverage. She looked back at Claude and then said, “I guess if it’s important.” She looked at Teach again. “You did like totally save my life. Thanks for that by the way.”

“Don’t mention it,” Teach said, with a faint smile. There was something on the edges of that smile that got the part of Claude’s brain always trying to figure it out’s attention.

“Ugh,” Hilda threw her hands up in the air again. “I just walked out of my office and now I have to walk all the way back there again.”

She walked outside, they followed her for a spell, only long enough to get to where Linhardt was dozing next to Eira and Ingrid’s pegasus. Marianne was nowhere to be seen, so much like the kid earlier, she must’ve made herself scarce. Claude saw Hilda’s pink hair disappear into a room and then was confronted by two pairs of eyes, one angry emerald, the other saintly verdant and disturbing blank.

“Three years?” Ingrid said. “You couldn’t have had the decency to talk to her in person.”

He was so tired of her digging at him, as if she had any possible idea what Almyra was like or how to navigate intense social situations without being considered a threat, nope he was merely an ill-mannered noble to her. And as part of the Kingdom army she definitely didn’t understand this situation.

“Get off my back, Ingrid,” Claude said, “You don’t have any idea what we were going through. You didn’t have to pick sides, remember?”

Keeping the entire Alliance together for five years had been the toughest thing Claude ever did and the effort it took to manage it so often felt like it wasn’t worth it. He could’ve gone home at any point, but he stayed and he did what he could. And like always, he was an outsider, so why should he get any praise for his accomplishments if he didn’t properly fold his napkin in his lap.

“That doesn’t mean you had to wait that long, you obviously hurt her,” Ingrid said. Like he didn’t know. “Do you know what it’s like to be heartbroken and left without any kind of closure? It’s terrible. I know you’re irresponsible and don’t care about what it looks like to your station when you act casual, but I didn’t expect you to take it this far.”

“Ingrid,” Teach said, touching her on the arm. “Leave it.”

Ingrid shook her head, lost in her own thoughts, of her own thing, and whatever she was projecting at Claude. He hadn’t meant to hurt any of them. He hadn’t thought him leaving would, but in the end he still would’ve done the same. If he’d stayed it would’ve been a lot more complicated and he’d already put in the work (on blind faith) that lead the Alliance Lords to rejoining the Kingdom. There weren’t any post-war skirmishes in any of _his_ former territories. He’d saved a lot of lives doing that.

If two women, one of which he actually cared about’s opinion, wanted to be mad at him and think he was the worst on the planet, then that was a sacrifice he was willing to make.

“She wouldn’t be that mad if she didn’t still care,” Teach said, rather astutely.

“Well aware of that, Teach,” Claude said. He’d written to Hilda so many times and not sent it when he’d been traveling, until finally so much time had passed without anything at all, that what he ended up sending hadn’t been enough, but he figured it was better than nothing at all. That had been a miscalculation.

Lin was still dozing faintly, amazing what he could sleep through. Claude wondered if maybe getting him involved with all of this wasn’t the right call, considering the Giant Bird attack he hadn't counted on. But it was his choice, for all the rumors and gossip, Claude didn’t actually manipulate people into doing things against their will.

If he moved them towards a certain choice, it was already one they wanted to go for, but didn’t know it yet. Never worked otherwise.

Hilda finally came out of her office, carrying a pink tinged envelope that he was guessing smelled like strawberries. “Here,” she said, stuffily handing it to him. He guessed wrong, it smelled of roses. “That’ll get you free passage through the Locket and back.”

Claude held the envelope, noticing the seal of Goneril had a slight variation to it, small pinwheels like her hair clips, so Hilda had made it her own.“Thank you,” he said, and he meant it. “This is going to make a big difference. I promise.”

“Don’t… promise me anything,” Hilda said, stiffly. “You asked for help, I gave it. And now you can leave since your secret mission is so _dire_.”

Claude sighed, and put the letter into the inside pocket of his jacket, knowing that it was going to carry that smell for the next few days to torture him. “It doesn’t say, please kill the person that delivered this letter, right?”

It did not get the reaction he wanted, which was Hilda to smile, even if she was angry about it. She looked… hurt. “No, Claude. I actually follow through on my promises.” She pushed some hair over her shoulder. “It’s why I try not to make them.”

She turned over to Ingrid and Teach and the cheerful smile was back on her face. “Ingrid, so good to see you again! And Professor—” She giggled. “Archbishop, please come back any time. And tell the students at the Academy too, because you never know… they might be better suited for something else. I was.”

Teach was inscrutable, but her lips were lifted at the corner. “I’ll make sure to do that, Annette will be thrilled.”

“Oh! Please give her a hug from me!” Hilda said and then spun around, making both her hair and skirt swirl in the air as she walked off. She stopped in front of Eira (who Linhardt was previously sleeping against and now leaning on), murmured something inaudible and patted her flank. The traitorous wyvern, leaned into it.

Then Hilda turned towards Linhardt for some reason, Claude couldn’t remember them talking much. Unless they found a shared nap spot. Huh… maybe he had a type.

“Lin,” she said, “Good luck.” Or Hilda was sharper than she looked.

“Uh,” Linhardt said, clearly having missed the last ten minutes, “thank you?”

Hilda patted Linhardt on the arm, lightly.“But just so you know he’s _never_ going to put you first.” Then she spun off in a delicate maneuver like she hadn’t just slammed an axe right into Claude’s chest.

“So did we get the clearance, then?” Linhardt asked, either not bothered in the slightest by what transpired, or not picking up on social cues.

“Yeah,” Claude said, roughly. “We got it.”

“I suppose we should head out then,” Ingrid said, stiffly.

“After you, my lady of the critique,” Claude said. She scoffed at him and mounted her pegasus, which was good enough, he guessed. He didn’t need her to like him, but having her lance pointed away from him would be good.

Teach stared at him, assessing. He’d wanted so badly for her to join the Golden Deers and after seeing her fight, after seeing her _plan_ , he’d known they could’ve done a lot together. But much like his goodbye to Hilda and everything else that happened. It was in the past and wouldn’t help with the future.

“C’mon, Teach, let’s go find some answers.”

She didn’t say anything, but nodded and then mounted after Ingrid. Claude ran his hands through his hair… they probably smelled like roses too. Then he sighed, made sure to tell Eira she was a traitor, and mounted with Linhardt.

“I don't care, you know,” Lin said, arms slung loosely around his waist and then a little tighter as Eira took off.

“About?” Claude asked, over his shoulder.

“I’m not planning on putting you first either.” He leaned against Claude’s back as they began to ascend. “It’s an obligation that’s a waste of time. We enjoy each other’s company, we’re expanding our knowledge and combing forces to learn more, the rest of it is rather tiring.”

Claude in general, had no idea what to think about that, but at the moment, with the scent of rose still clinging and an axe wound in his chest, it sounded pretty good.

He put one hand over Linhardt’s and road in silent ease as Eira’s white wings glided through the air, bending, not breaking to the direction of the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> later, hilda denies she's sulking as marianne combs her hair and tells her about the lovely, though one-sided, conversation she had with eira and asper before they left


	10. Tell No Tales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caspar and Ashe discover something while ghost hunting. 
> 
> (or, ashe do you fondly gaze at all your friends like that? maybe)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 10! presumably a halfway point where things kick up--i make no promises; ty for sticking around so far comments and kudos have been my quarantine care package!

“This is the worst!” Caspar said, after almost five solid days of scouting the area to see if there was any sign of otherworldly leavings, or however Mavis put it.

“Yeah,” Leonie said, “Hate to agree with you, but this is kind of boring. I thought we’d be done before my birthday, but we still haven’t found any kind of trail.”

Ashe wondered what kind of trail a ghost would leave. He’d thought about it the last several days and came to the conclusion it probably wouldn’t leave any, so he hadn’t exactly slept well since they had found nothing.

“It’s your birthday?” Caspar asked.

“In a few days,” Leonie said with a shrug. “Don’t make a big deal out of it. I just hoped we’d have time to go back to my village for it, but we’re not going to get paid for this job if we don’t find _something_.”

“Maybe we should check the other sightings again?” Ashe suggested. “The… disappearing monster ones.”

Leonie rubbed the bridge of her nose with her thumb. “Maybe we should see if the drinking water in the nearby towns is contaminated and making everyone hallucinate.”

“That’d be great,” Ashe said, before realizing he’d been a bit too eager to have the answer be that the town was being poisoned. “I mean… it’d be great to have an answer.”

“I was kidding,” Leonie said. She glanced over her shoulder, where Mavis was still stalking the area, a black cloaked blur as they moved past tree branches, rocks, and tiny streams, searching, presumably, for some sign of magic. So far there hadn’t been any.

“They are really weird,” Caspar said, slightly quieter than normal, which was probably still loud enough for Mavis to pick up on.

“We’re looking for really weird?” Ashe said, but he couldn’t help make it a question. He really hadn’t grown any fonder of his traveling companion, the silence stretched beyond even his least talkative friends, and into a conclusion that Mavis didn’t like him. Judging by the way they acted to everyone, he didn’t take that personally, but it didn’t really work in Mavis’s favor for Ashe.

“Nothing substantial,” Mavis said, coming back in a sweep of black robes and moving past them.

“Great,” Caspar said, groaning.

When they’d spoken to the people that had seen the sightings, all of them had the same story, the air had gotten chiller, the lights they carried flickered, and then a beast appeared that seemed like it might attack them, but then disappeared again as quickly. Or those that saw the Death Knight described him… fairly accurately from what Ashe remembered. And it was hard to forget. Molten eyes in a dark unyielding face with horns and a steed just as black. And a scythe that could slice a person in two, and if it didn’t, would leave them with painful poison swimming through their veins. No, it wasn’t easy to forget.

“Okay,” Leonie said, shooting a cross look at Mavis’s retreating back. “Let’s do this the old fashioned way. You want to catch a fox, you have to think like one. These things are only coming out at night, we’ve searched at night, but we need to camp out in the places they’ve showed up. That’s the only chance we have of seeing them.”

She sounded pretty confident for someone suggesting they stay out all night where ghosts had been appearing. Ashe swallowed. “You mean spilt up?”

“Yeah,” Leonie nodded, sounding even more sure of herself. “Small groups, then we can observe. Only recon,” she added, pointing at Caspar. “We don’t want to engage whatever these things are until we’re ready.”

“I’m always ready!” Caspar objected.

Considering, Ashe had, not a week ago, assumed Caspar was dead, he couldn’t help agree with Leonie. “How much interaction did you have with the Death Knight?” he asked Caspar.

Caspar looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. They hadn’t talked much about the war when they’d been catching up. Ashe didn’t seem to talk to anyone about it. It was too difficult to mention all the things they’d had to do to win.

“Jeritza?” Caspar shrugged. “I mean, not much… he hung out mostly around Edelgard or he was off fighting. I didn’t really go with him too much. Usually it was…” he cleared his throat and kicked a rock on the ground fairly hard so it skittered into the distance.

He didn’t have to finish. Another thing that was hard to forget was Dorothea crying all the way back to the Monastery over ‘Ferdie’ and the rest of their complicit silence, since no one knew what to say.Even Ashe, after Lonato, couldn’t offer any comfort. He didn’t have any for himself.

“It’s okay,” Ashe said. “I meant, do you think he had any friends? Someone who’d want to copy him?”

Caspar laughed, although it sounded a little forced, all things considered. “No way. You talk to that guy or two minutes and he talked about how much he wanted to kill you or kill something, he _really_ wanted to kill the—” He cut off again.

He also didn’t need to finish. Every battle the Death Knight would make a bee-line for the Professor and during one of them he’d almost gotten her. “Hm,” Ashe said. “Well then maybe it’s someone who wants to copy him who doesn’t know him? I wonder if the fighting came out as far as Platt.”

“I don’t know why it would,” Caspar said, “Linhardt’s father was in it from the get go. There weren’t any rebellions this far out and the Kingdom armies mainly focused on the strongholds we had set up.”

“Either way that guy was a creep,” Leonie said. “And I saw him fight, so I don’t think we should assume whoever this is doesn’t have some of the same skill. So recon, all right? There’s plenty of time to fight when we have a group.”

“Arm wrestle ya for it?” Caspar offered.

Leonie snorted and shook her head. “I’m going to inform the rest of the crew what we’re doing. Do you two want to scout up here or one of the other areas?”

“Here’s fine,” Caspar said, stretching out. “Be bored here, be bored anywhere else. Doesn’t matter.”

Ashe didn’t think sitting all night next to Caspar would be boring, but also didn’t think sitting in the dark woods where there were ghost sightings would be boring either, for very different reasons.

“Hey Ashe,” Caspar said as Leonie started walking towards the rest of her mercenaries, “do you want to arm wrestle me?”

“No,” Ashe said. “I need my arm for archery.”

Caspar grinned at him. “Suit yourself, I’m gonna go ask Mavis if they want to.”

“I don’t…” Ashe started, but Caspar was already off. Ashe hoped the dark mage didn’t turn him into a toad or something.

He wasn’t sure _what_ happened, but a few hours later, Mavis decided they did not want to stay with Ashe and Caspar on this watch and went off with Leonie, who didn’t seem thrilled about it.Ashe didn’t mind, if he ignored the fact that they were on the watch for either ghosts (who did not exist, he kept telling himself) or Death Knights (who did exist but were dead, he also kept telling himself), then it was him and Caspar sitting together, either talking or in amicable silence, while the sun slowly began to set.

“Leonie seems like a good leader,” Ashe said, after Caspar finished telling him of one of their last missions, where they had gone deep into Hyrm territory to fight off brigands.

“She’s all right,” Caspar said. He had a twig in his hand and was drawing little circles in the dirt, beneath patches of grass. “It’s better than going past the borders and picking fights and helping people by myself.”

“Is that what you did after the war?” Ashe asked, gently.

Caspar nodded. “Got pretty lonely. Was used to having a team around, so I came back. Wasn’t sure what I’d find, but then I found Leonie and the crew and well,” he shrugged. “I like helping people, it’s easier to find them when they hire you.”

“Or ask for help,” Ashe said. It was why he loved being a Knight. After years of fighting for peace, it made sense to dedicate himself to sustaining it. Helping people was what Lonato would’ve wanted, what his parents would have wanted… and it was what Ashe wanted.

“Yeah, they don’t pay you, right?” Caspar looked backwards over his shoulder at Ashe, grinning. The dimming sunlight made him look like he was fading through the dark, like how Ashe assumed those monsters looked, but much less scary.

“I earn a living through service to the Kingdom,” Ashe said. Also taxes from Gaspard, but he mostly sent those back into the villages and townships in whatever form they were needing. It wasn’t as if he needed much. Sarai and Braun were much the same. After trying to survive on the street without their parents, Ashe and his siblings didn’t value the extraneous things some of the other nobles did. In the end, all he needed was his family, his friends, a roof over his head, and maybe good food and a good book if he was lucky.

“You look like one of those Knights in the books you were always reading,” Caspar said. “It suits you.”

Ashe felt embarrassed and shook his head out of instinct. “That’s… thanks.” He cleared his throat and looked up as the sun completed its descent. “We should… look around I guess.”

“Hey,” Caspar said. “I got a great idea. Let’s climb up one of those trees, we could get a view of the whole area!”

It was a good idea fifteen minutes ago. “Why didn’t you suggest that before it got dark?”

“I got distracted,” Caspar said with a shrug.

“I don’t know, if we fall, there’s no one around…”

“Think of it this way,” Caspar said, “when have you ever heard of a ghost climbing a tree?”

He had a point there. “Okay,” Ashe said and lifted himself to his feet. They walked towards the tree that had the most well distributed branches. It wasn’t pitch black, as the stars and moon came out right after the remaining aurora of sunlight disappeared, but it was still a bit of trouble wrangling himself up there. It had been a while since he’d attempted something like this and he usually wouldn’t have tried it in armor, no matter how flexible his was.

Ashe’s foot slipped halfway up, and his heart jumped into his throat thinking he was falling, but a strong hand grasped his arm and he breathed a little easier as Caspar helped him. “Easy, Ashe. We don’t know what Mavis’ll do to your body if you die.”

Ashe tried not to laugh, it was a little mean spirited. He couldn’t help smile though, as he and Caspar found their way to a less than comfortable, but more secure position on one of the higher and thicker tree branches.

“That’s better,” Caspar said. “At least we’re doing _something_.”

“It’s nice not everything changes,” Ashe said, without meaning to.

“Whatdya mean?” Caspar asked, turning his head towards him.

Ashe plowed ahead, feeling a little heated and embarrassed again, but knowing it was too dark to tell. “You hating waiting rather than doing.”

“Well, yeah,” Caspar said. “I’m not useful if I’m waiting around, am I? I mean, you’re in a situation where a guy is ransacking a town, you either wait for people to show up, or you do something about it. Wouldn’t you do something about it?”

“Probably,” Ashe said. Waiting for help was the smart thing, but, “if people were in danger and I could help.”

Caspar’s grin was bright enough to see in the dark. “You’re right. It is nice not everything changes.”

Ashe smiled at him and they spent the next few hours, keeping watch, it only took Caspar half an hour to get bored, so Ashe offered to tell him a few stories he remembered and made sure to keep it to the more exciting ones. He’d had them memorized since school, mostly from rereading, but then from long nights after battles, where everyone needed a distraction at camp, or recovering from injuries. They’d still come in handy now whenever he saw the children of his friends.

“Aw man,” Caspar said, after Ashe finished the story of the Lion Tamer who became the Lion. “That was awesome. Think about how cool it would be being a lion?” He shook his head and squinted out into the distance again, still keeping a watch, once he saw nothing he turned back to Ashe. “You know any ghost stories?”

“Um,” Ashe gripped the tree a little to keep his balance. “Not really. I’m not… I mean…”

“You’re still afraid of ghosts aren’t you?” Caspar asked, embarrassingly accurate.

“No,” Ashe said, then immediately felt guilty lying. “Yes. But, not as often as I did walking around the Monastery. It always felt haunted.” He and Annette had almost been seen by a specter one… or so they thought, it could have _also_ been a cat.

“Why?” Caspar asked. “You’ve fought beasts and wars, what’s a ghost gonna do to you?”

“I don’t know,” Ashe said. “That’s why it’s frightening.”

Caspar shrugged, but then patted Ashe on the shoulder gesturing forward. It was faint, but there was clearly something in the distance, the faint purple glow surrounded by black that radiated from dark magic. He was pretty sure Mavis hadn’t decided to throw off spells in the middle of the forest, in the direction they hadn’t gone, so it was definitely something. “We should—” Ashe started, but Caspar was already halfway down the tree by the time he’d finished and was headed towards where the light was.

“Caspar!” Ashe hissed in a frustrated whisper. Somethings _could_ have changed and he wouldn’t have minded. He scrambled his way down the tree, losing his footing again, but thankfully this time closer to the ground. His palm had what could only be described as tree burn as he caught himself, but there wasn’t time to worry about it and he followed as quickly as possible to see if he could catch up to Caspar.

It was dark, silent but for the noises of crickets and other nocturnal things, and his own footsteps crunching through the terrain, which thankfully wasn’t covered with dead leaves and twigs, or it’d be a lot louder.

He caught up to Caspar, finally, out of breath but relieved, but Caspar grabbed the front of his vest and for once signaled for _Ashe_ to be quiet. Ashe moved forward, practically pushing against Caspar’s back to look over his shoulder at what the lights were.

They were brighter now, dancing in an almost artful pattern, like paint splatter when shaking a brush. The edges of them were inky and black, but the inside of it was purple, the familiar miasma smell that Ashe couldn’t help associate with death filled the air. Caspar nudged him to look further west and when Ashe did he could make out two figures.

They were watching the magic, but didn’t seem to be making any of it. One of them walked around, closer to it, squinting into the solid-light looking for something, but not close enough to touch it. Once they were closer to the light… the figure’s sharp features and angry mouth looked vaguely familiar. Not the Death Knight… but… someone Ashe had seen before, even if he couldn’t place it. He knew it was someone from the other army, someone in a battlefield, or… someone in a tomb? He swallowed against that thought, audibly and felt like his heart beat was loud enough for every creature within ten meters to hear.

“Any luck?” the other figure called, in what sounded like probably a woman’s voice.

“No, I told you this wouldn’t work this far from —”

“ _Don’t_ ,” the woman snapped.

The man scoffed. “No one’s here, who’s going to overhear me the rabbits?”

“We have rules for a reason, Metodey.”

Ashe breathed in sharply, he _knew_ that name. If it had been a battle he might not have remembered, but he’d been the one who’d attacked them in the Goddess’s Tomb, trying to steal the crest stones, the one who’d been working for the Flame Emperor… the one who was _absolutely_ dead, seconds before he almost hit Felix in the back (who’d been engaged with two others at the time). Unless the Empire had found a way to survive an arrow to the throat.

Metodey huffed out a very annoyed sounding breath. “They’re not my rules, _Bias_ ,” he said in a voice that clearly meant he was imitating her.

“They are now,” the woman said, stepping forward. She wore a veil over her face and while the magic didn’t seem to be coming from her, it bent in her direction as she came forward.

The dead man huffed and crossed his arms. “We should find another source, this one is weak.”

“As if you know what you speak of,” the woman, Bias said, sharply. “Your foolish attempt to scare off the villagers only had them send for help.”

“How was I supposed to know that Count Hevring would suddenly give a rat’s ass about his people?” Metodey scoffed and stepped closer to the magical lights, squinting at them angrily. At this angle Ashe could see the scar where his arrow had gone through his neck.

Ashe was shaking, which he realized when Caspar grabbed his forearm and squeezed to signal him to stop. He nodded and then wondered how they could get out of here without these two noticing, but it seemed impossible to move. He grabbed onto Caspar’s arm with the same one he was holding and squeezed, hoping he wasn’t going to jump into the middle of them and try to fight.

“Caution is of utmost importance,” Bias said, skimming her gloved fingers against the inky purple lights that were curling into themselves like a mist in a fog. “Unless you’d rather I inform _her_ that you’re throwing our entire operation into the dirt.”

“Oh don’t be dramatic, Bias,” Metodey said, sniffing the air. “If those pathetic excuses for mercenaries or the _two_ people the Kingdom sent actually manage to find us, it won’t be hard to kill them.”

“Yes and bring _more_ attention,” Bias scoffed in disgust and then moved her hand in a sharp gesture that spun at an angle doing a loop around itself. A faint circle of spellwork appeared by the gesture and then the light and mist followed suit until the purple aura was swallowed completely by blackness and disappeared. “Sadly, you are right, for as small your pitiful human brain is, we need to get closer. This source is weakened, the experiments won’t work here and you’ve drawn too much attention for us to gather more subjects.”

Metodey said something but it was too low for Ashe to hear from where they were crouched. He threw a rude gesture at Bias’s back and then followed along, begrudgingly. Ashe was still breathing hard and clutching Caspar’s arm when they dropped out of sight.

“We gotta follow them,” Caspar said, surprisingly quiet.

Ashe shook his head. He didn’t know if that was a ghost or something else, but it seemed like something they need to inform the King of and not rush after.

“Ashe,” Caspar said, shaking his head. “C’mon, they said _subjects._ You know that means people. We lose track of them and someone might get hurt.”

Ashe stared at Caspar for a long moment, his heart somewhere in his throat, and knew he was right. If there was a chance someone could get hurt, it was Ashe’s duty to stop it.

“Okay,” Ashe said. “Let’s follow them.”

Caspar opened his mouth as if he were gong to yell and then closed it and gave Ashe’s arm a squeeze, before shuffling quietly through the trees. Ashe followed him. Now he wished it _had_ been ghosts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> meanwhile, mavis asks leonie how much money she makes as a mercenary, because looking this coordinated in black attire is difficult
> 
> @waffle_fancy on twitter


	11. An Incomplete Picture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri begins to put the pieces together, but the picture they make feels incomplete.
> 
> (or, castle stuff, church stuff, and friends who are also headaches)

The end of summer was always a packed time, the preparations for winter had to start early, or else there was too much to account for and no time to react to things that invariably couldn’t be accounted for. Occasionally Dimitri thought he was only at these meetings to watch the minor lords squabble. They rarely required his input, as they rarely progressed very far with what they were attempting to achieve.

“You should actually be paying attention, they’re talking about your territories,” muttered Felix next to Dimitri, although it wasn’t directed at him.

“Future territories,” Sylvain retorted, from Dimitri’s other side. “I’m here as a placeholder for a placeholder, let me enjoy what little I have in life.”

“Idiot,” Felix grunted under his breath.

Dimitri could feel the grin on Sylvain’s face without even glancing to his left. “Now who’s acting up during official business?”

“Would you two sit next to each other if you’re going to do this?” Dimitri asked, quietly, resisting the urge to rub his temples.

“Then we’d look like we were canoodling in the middle of a meeting,” Sylvain said, not as quiet as Dimitri would have preferred. “This way it looks like we’re discussing business with the king.”

Likewise to Sylvain’s grin, Dimitri could practically feel Felix’s glare. “Don’t drag me into this.”

Dimitri cleared his throat, putting an end to it, “I’m sorry, Lord Falstaff, could you repeat that requisition? I don’t think Lord Gautier heard you.”

“ _Ruthless_ ,” Sylvain said, before grinning and said more loudly. “Yeah, the bit about the equinestry? Did you have a different plan of attack than the one we’ve been using to keep the horses alive during the winter for the last thousand years? If it’s keep them in the house, I tried that and it did not go over well.”

Dimitri leaned back in his chair and, now that they were fairly distracted, gave in to rubbing the throbbing pain pulsating at his rightmost temple.

“If you’re still not sleeping you should see a healer,” Felix said, in a fashion that only he could manage which somehow sounded concerned and also like Dimitri was an imbecile. It was comforting in its familiarity.

“I’m fine,” Dimitri said. “Stayed up too late looking over some things.”

Felix raised an eyebrow.

“I’m meeting with Dedue later, you’re welcome to join,” Dimitri said. His lack of answer, seemed to be enough of an answer for Felix to understand and he nodded and leaned back in his own chair, squinting in disbelief as Sylvain somehow redirected the entire conversation into a singular category that could actually be made into a reasonable and achievable goal. Amazing what Sylvain could accomplish when he was forced into it.

They were able to end an hour earlier than expected, which suited Dimitri fine. He hadn’t visited the palace chapel in a week and was beginning to feel residual guilt, logical or not, so an extra hour in his day was more than welcome. It was not a particularly crowded time for those who wished to worship to come in, although, as he was unsurprised to see, Mercedes was there, speaking softly with someone in one of the pews.

Dimitri sat down away from them so as not to overhear and looked up at the symbol of Seiros, bathed in the light of mid-afternoon sun coming through the stained glass on the ceiling. It was impractical during the heavy snows, but somehow always remained unblemished. As always, he merely watched and waited. There was something comforting about sitting here, as it had been at the cathedral at the monastery, even when he’d been at his worst and so had the building. Actual prayers, however, were difficult for him to muster. He assumed if the Goddess could hear them, she was likely tired of getting so many requests and besides Dimitri did not think she interfered directly… even if some circumstances of his own life proved differently. And if she did he didn’t think he deserved any more help, since he’d gotten far more than he should have in life considering all the things he’d done.

Still, this was where his father had brought him. One of the few places they came together with his stepmother and there was always a sense of peace in that. He felt some of the throbbing in his head start to fade, the longer he he sat in silence.

“Don’t let me interrupt you,” Mercedes said, sweetly, sitting next to him. The person whom she was speaking with staying in their seat.

“You aren’t,” Dimitri said, smiling at her.

Mercedes smiled back, warmly. “I’ve really come to appreciate the Duscur pantheon, especially the God of Hearth, but there’s always something comforting about being back here.”

“The familiarity, if not the piety,” Dimitri agreed.

Mercedes laughed softly and pressed her fingers on the bench in front of her, before pulling them back onto her lap. “Maybe. I certainly don’t… put everything in her hands anymore.” Her smile turned a little sad around the edges. “I miss that.”

“Did it work?” Dimitri asked.

Mercedes shook her head. “No, but I believed it would. I don't think ignorance is better, but I do think it is easier.” She sighed and looked up at the symbol of Seiros. “Maybe that’s why so many people still cling to it.”

“Is everything all right?” Dimitri asked, hesitant.

Mercedes smiled again. “No need to worry, I’m merely feeling introspective today.” She gave him an assessing look. “I’ve had three people tell me you’ve been having more frequent headaches lately.”

Headache was a quaint way to put it. Dimitri sighed. “I suspect these three people are Dedue, Felix, and Sylvain?”

“They’re concerned,” Mercedes said. “You do look tired.”

“It’s nothing out of the ordinary,” Dimitri said. “It’s been this way for a while, I’m usually better at managing it, but the … stress currently is making it difficult to sleep which is not helping matters.” There was an ache inside his head that occasionally crept outside to rattle down stabbing pain into his entire skull. Even if he had been able to sleep through that, there were thoughts and dreams waiting for him that he never felt like he’d entirely woken up from and would not mind avoiding.

“Are you taking anything?” Mercedes asked. “To sleep?”

“No,” Dimitri said. “I’m fairly certain if I asked for something Felix would assume they were trying to poison me with the way he’s been acting.”

“He’s protective,” Mercedes said, sounding mildly defensive. “Considering what is stressing you, that’s understandable.”

Dimitri sighed. “It is… easier to know the enemy than not.” Even if the knowing was false. There had been a sense of focus, however misguided, when Edelgard had been at the center of every misfortune of his life. The truth was more complicated and seemed to grow even more so as the years went on.

“I think it’s difficult when you can’t understand them,” Mercedes said, surprising him. “If you were fighting someone who was protecting their home, or had suffered a great injustice, there’s a sense of empathy there—you can learn to bridge that gap and maybe… maybe in a kinder world find peace.”

She shook her head again and laughed softly. “I’m getting morose; this is silly.” She looked up at him again. “As I was saying, if you’d like I can try to mix together something to help you sleep.”

Dimitri stared at his friend for a moment, her pale blue eyes were hiding something… he wouldn’t pry, but it felt painfully familiar in their depths. “I wouldn’t feel comfortable dulling my senses at the moment. Things happening at night may have need of me.”

“Thinking like that is a good way to stay awake,” Mercedes countered, firm, but not unkind. “I can find something that only helps a little. It isn’t a weakness or penance to take the help, you know?”

Dimitri sighed and leaned back again the pew. “I give in. I cannot defend four fronts.”

Mercedes giggled. “It’s not a war, when your friends want to help you.” She shook her head. “Unless you’re really taking after Felix.”

Dimitri scoffed a laugh and shook his head. “No. That’s sobering enough. I would be glad to accept your help, Mercedes.”

She smiled at him and they spent the next half hour together, sitting beneath the light of the sun changing the colors in the windows onto the Goddess’s featureless face.

Later, Dimitri was in his office, expecting Dedue or Felix to arrive, when his steward, Cord Lugner, came with a letter.

“I thought this might warrant immediate delivery,” Cord said, bowing as he left it on Dimitri’s desk.

It only took Dimitri a moment to recognize the handwriting and the tension he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying for the past few days released from his shoulders. “Thank you, Cord. This is…” He cleared his throat and nodded at his steward to dismiss him. “Thank you,” he said again.

Cord nodded at him and smiled as he closed the door behind him.

Byleth’s letter was short and not entirely detailed, which meant she was still searching and likely meant they’d made some progress.

_‘Ingrid and Claude have not killed each other yet, but I am considering taking bets on when._

_We are still digging. I’d love to say more but…_

_Please kiss the children for me until they’re sick of it. I miss you all terribly already, which is unfair since you can’t send anything back, but it’s still true._

_Maybe this’ll wrap up by the end of the month. Hope so._

_Yours.’_

There was no name signed to it. Not because Byleth was being cautious, Dimitri thought, but because the last word what was what she had meant to say. He was still rereading the letter when Dedue arrived, followed shortly thereafter by Felix.

Neither of them had ever gotten along, even when they were both at the palace and the war was behind them, so Dimitri was unsurprised to see Felix not take the chair next to Dedue, but rather lean against one of the book shelves, with his arms crossed over his chest.

“I was able to locate supplementary records,” Dedue said, holding parchment, a book, and something else in his hands. “It does appear as if Christophe Gaspard was implicated to cover his assassination attempt on the archbishop, although I still could not discern why.”

Dimitri had some suspicions, after a few conversations with Ashe when he’d refused to take the training yard with Catherine again, but it still seemed implausible. “To protect House Gaspard?” he hazarded, although that didn’t feel right either and it hadn’t worked, as Lonato had attempted to take on the Church as well. To what end?

“I do not believe so,” Dedue said. “It implicated them in other ways.”

Felix was frowning up at the ceiling, in a way that usually meant he was weighing a thought. “Rhea told us to keep things quiet after more than one mission, maybe the Central Church didn’t want to seem weak by having enemies.”

“I can’t see the logic in that,” Dimitri said.

Felix snorted. “Because we grew up knowing that the stronger you are the more enemies you have, but the Church of Seiros had ties to the Empire and the Alliance, it was the neutral party until the Empire changed things.”

Dimitri leaned back in his chair, sighing. It was too much to hope for that the holiest place in the land would be incapable of the same kind of subterfuge that their enemies had been (and possibly still were).

“They did not think that Duscur acted alone,” Dedue said. He had not changed his expression, but in knowing him so long, Dimitri could tell that this was still not a pleasant topic for him. “It may have assisted in the narrative, that they had help.”

“That’s foolish,” Felix said. “They want to blame all of Duscur for it, but then also don’t think they’re capable of it?”

Dedue did not look in Felix’s direction. “It may be foolish, but that does not mean it would not be true. Fódlan viewed my people as savage brutes who did not have the strategy to handle an attack of that magnitude. If one of their own assisted, then it would help their… story.”

Felix shifted where he was standing, arms still crossed over his chest. “What does the Church have to gain from that?”

Dedue frowned. “I do not know.”

Dimitri was not sure the answer to this question would help them get any further along, so he changed the direction. “You mentioned you talked to a healer that assisted during the plague?”

Dedue nodded and his expression did not change much, but Dimitri could see his shoulders relax some, relieved to be changing subjects. “Yes, they did not remember much, but they did say that Cornelia’s knowledge of the specifics of the plague itself and how to cure was considered a miracle at the time, but they have since reflected that it seemed… oddly timed.”

Dimitri thought of the people that had died during that outbreak, his own mother whom he rarely could remember more than her smile and laugh (and even then often thought he conflated her memory with memories of his stepmother). Had she not died, he would have had no stepmother and if she’d been involved in any of this, it wouldn’t have occurred. And that was only the personal effect the plague had on Dimitri’s life. Countless other lives had been taken and impacted by it.

“Could these people have… created something like that only to cure it?”

“Unfortunately,” Dedue said. “I still have not been able to find much on this secret society.”

Felix shifted on his feet again, crossing his arms in the other direction. “If we know they replace people, like Monica and Tomas, then they probably have other skills we’re not familiar with. It doesn’t sound, from that like Cornelia was replaced. Having someone be there at the right time and place is probably easier than making someone disappear and taking on their image.”

“Not… entirely reassuring,” Dimitri said.

“I didn’t think you invited me here to coddle you,” Felix replied, without much bite to it.

Dimitri may have snorted were he not so bone tired.

“There is also this,” Dedue said, and placed the item Dimitri could not identify earlier on his desk. It was a small picture frame, etched in silver. “I thought you would want it.”

Dimitri picked it up and saw the picture inside, a sketched drawing of his stepmother. It was … remarkably accurate and the lines appeared to be shaded with a colored charcoal rather than paint, he’d seen Ignatz attempt to hide drawings with similar skill during school. Holding it, Dimitri felt many things, not all of them good, but not all of them bad. She looked as he remembered, dark hair swept back from her face and braided, violet eyes that in retrospect did look much like Edelgard’s, and a furred dress, sometimes even in summer.

“Thank you,” he said and put the frame down on the desk next to him.

Dedue stared at him, but did not add any additional thoughts. Dimitri suspected that was due to Felix being in the room and at the moment was grateful for it. He did not wish to prod at those feelings until they had more usable information.

Dedue placed another item on the desk, it was a book, rather a storybook that looked vaguely familiar. “This was apparently hers, it has little written in it, but it does say it was gifted to Anselma von Arundel.”

Dimitri sighed again. “I suppose if we could comfortably reach out to someone in the former Imperial territories, that would be an excellent lead.”

Felix scoffed. “This hiding in the dark, working underneath it all is cowardly.”

“Yes,” Dedue said. “But clearly effective.”

Felix frowned at the back of Dedue’s head, short of a scowl. “Hiding means they’re weak. If they _could_ make a full frontal attack, why wouldn’t they?”

Dimitri suspected, that because from what he was beginning to gather together was that it was more—as Dedue said—effective to work from the shadows. The sickness that spread through Faerghus took many people and made Cornelia so invaluable and that she was able to use that influence decades later to steal the throne. That kind of tactic was not one that Dimitri would have ever considered, but he was beginning to think understanding the depths they would sink towards was the way to understand how to defend against it.

“They must not be able to… do these things all at once,” Dimitri said. “Using magic drains a caster, so maybe these acts also drain their resources.”

Dedue nodded. “That would explain the gaps in what we know of their involvement.”

And likely, Dimitri thought, it meant that the Tragedy of Duscur was not of their unknown resources, but through manipulation and timing… those were tactics that also did not come to mind for Dimitri, but he needed to prepare defenses for them as well. Not doing so had undone him in the past.

“It still feels like we’re shooting arrows into the fog,” Felix said. “None of this tells us anything.”

“It is a start,” Dedue said. “The pieces put together may form a clearer picture.”

Before Felix could respond, Dimitri asked him, “Have you explained the situation to Sylvain?” He thought perhaps that a third, however distracting, might be a levity that would offset the current dynamic. They weren’t likely to get much accomplished if his two closest advisors felt uncomfortable speaking in the same room.

Felix gave a derisive snort. “You’re kidding? We don’t know any real details and he couldn’t keep a secret if his mouth was sewn shut.”

Dedue frowned slightly, but Dimitri found it… difficult to argue the point, even if friendship made him feel like he should. “Perhaps when we know more,” Dimitri said.

“Did Byleth find anything yet?” Felix asked.

Dimitri tapped his fingers against the edge of the letter still in front of him. “Not that she said, but I think they’re making progress.”

Felix shook his head and pushed himself off the bookshelf. “Let me know when she finds something to fight. This… whatever this is, isn’t getting us anywhere.” He didn’t quite storm out, but he took as assertive of an exit as Felix usually did when he was irritated.

The tension left the room, soon after the door shut behind him. Dedue shifted in his seat a little and continued telling Dimitri of what information he had found, less guarded than before. Dimitri needed the advice of both of them and greatly wished they’d get along, but decided that maybe in this regard, their conversations should be separate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> meanwhile sylvain is discussing the latest hot palace gossip with mercedes, did you HEAR about the stablehand who got into it with the wife of the butcher? (mercedes mhmms him, while working on embroidery, but is very invested)


	12. What Ifs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Camping down for the night, Claude and Byleth get a chance to talk.
> 
> (or idk my bff claude?)

Byleth couldn’t believe how soft she’d gotten. One night of roughing it in a tent after years of plush beds and she found it impossible to sleep. She dragged herself up, trying to keep from waking Ingrid and left, figuring maybe the fresh air would help.

Linhardt was fast asleep outside of his tent, a book covering his face. Luckily, Claude had apparently predicted this and was lying prone on the ground, staring up at the sky. Not the best place to conduct a watch, but maybe they were all out of practice.

“Hey Teach,” Claude said, as Byleth sat down next to him. “My shift over or you can’t sleep?”

“The latter,” Byleth said.

Claude made an assenting noise but not much else. He’d been fairly withdrawn since they’d talked with Hilda. She wanted to ask him about it, but while they’d been friends at the Academy, it wasn’t like it was with the Blue Lions.

Silence was fine with her, it had suited her well long enough. She laid down next to Claude, his feet by her head and stared up at the stars, trying to figure out what exactly he was looking at. Maybe it was the heavens, twisted above them, where the Goddess was supposed to be watching over them all.

_My soul will join with yours, and you I will never be apart._

Too bad that was a lie.

“That’s a pretty big sigh, Teach,” Claude commented. “You’re ruining my brooding.”

“Its been two days,” Byleth said.

They’d gotten through the Locket without trouble, Holst had personally escorted them there and told them the best route towards where Linhardt thought the temple was. It turned out the vast forest covering the Almyran/Fódlan border was a bit much to search on foot. They’d barely made a dent and flying to scout wasn’t an option with how dense the forest was.

“Sorry,” Claude said. “When I can remove the axe still lodged in my stomach, I’ll let you know.”

All the house leaders had a sort of second in the Academy. Dimitri had Dedue, Edelgard had Hubert and strangest of all, Claude had Hilda. But considering what she knew of the former two relationships, it must’ve been deeper than it seemed.

“What would you be doing now if you hadn’t gotten Hubert’s letter?” Byleth asked. Her answer was easy, but Claude was an enigma.

“Not sure,” Claude said. “Travel some more I guess.”

He sounded listless and without direction, which was … a strange sound for Claude. “Did you two know each other well?”

Claude snorted. “No. Shocked the hell out of me he sent it too. We’d maybe had a couple of passing conversations about what kind of flower crushes into the right poison, but once I realized he was a bit more… intense about it than my experiments, it seemed easier not to associate.”

“He mentioned a dream?”

Claude sighed and Byleth felt his feet shuffle against the grass as he drew one of his knees up. “Doesn’t matter. He was good at figuring people out, I guess.”

“Not an undersold skill,” Byleth said.

“Yeah, doubt he figured you out though, Teach,” Claude said.

“Maybe I don’t have as many hidden depths as you think I do,” Byleth countered.

Claude stretched his legs back out and his feet landed next to her head again. “I think this trip has established that is patently not true, Teach.”

Byleth stared up at the night sky, shrouded by tree cover, she could still make out stars here and there. Her father had taught her how to navigate by them, neither of them knew she had one in her.

_The truth is I have always been within you._

“Maybe…” Byleth said. “I keep wondering what things would’ve been like if Rhea hadn’t … done whatever she did. What I would’ve been like.”

Would she have wanted to play with the other kids? Would killing people as a teenage mercenary bothered her more? Would she have been able to express herself better so her father would’ve known how much she loved him?

“Ah don’t do that,” Claude said. “You can’t transport yourself backwards in time so there’s no point in ruminating on what-ifs.”

“Maybe.” Byleth crossed her arms behind her head and rested on them. The grass was softer than the tent for some reason, even if the itch on the bare spots of her legs was going to come back to haunt her in the morning.

“Although,” Claude started, a little bit of the brood already gone from his voice, “I do wonder what it would’ve been like if you’d picked our class.”

“I honestly can’t picture it,” Byleth said. She wasn’t sure she wanted to. Things hadn’t been easy, but she wouldn’t have traded where she was for anything else.

“You must have at least _considered_ the Golden Deer though, right?” Claude asked. “I thought I did a little better than Dimitri and Edelgard at making the sale.”

“I considered everyone,” Byleth said. She remembered talking to each of the students, none of the House Leaders had informed them of what she was, which made sense since she probably would’ve fit more as a student than a teacher. It was strange to be around so many of her peers, talking to her like she was one of them.

“Why’d you end up going with the Blue Lions?” Claude asked. “Could never figure that one out. Unless it was love at first sight?”

He didn’t sound teasing, more like he thought that could be an answer. “No. I didn’t… that had nothing to do with it.” She and Dimitri had talked about it once. He’d admitted it was probably after they’d rescued Flayn and he’d seen her smile. She thought it was probably the Goddess Tower, after the ball, when he’d made a wish that hadn’t seemed like it had been joking. She didn’t know what it was then, but looking back that felt right.

“So?” Claude asked.

Byleth pushed herself up to sitting to meet his eyes. “You really want to know?”

Claude turned and propped himself up on an elbow, raising and eyebrow. “Put me out of my misery.”

“Felix,” Byleth said. “I had run down all the options and tried to decide based on personality and mostly combat style, but Felix kept egging me on and challenging me and I just kind of wanted to rub his face in it and kick his ass.” She shrugged one shoulder and drew one of her knees up to her chest. “Which I did. Repeatedly.”

Claude stared at her, assessing, like he was looking for a lie or a joke. When he didn’t find one he gave a noise that was almost a laugh. “Shoulda sent Lorenz after you… then again he probably wouldn’t have challenged you to a fight.”

“I’m sorry,” Byleth said. “About him. I… heard Hilda bring it up.”

Claude sighed and stared down at the grass, flicking a blade with his freehand. “She was right. I should’ve known he’d ignore me and head right up against the Kingdom Army. He was protecting his House, it was what Lorenz did.”

He didn’t ask her if she’d done it, but it didn’t really matter. The lives on those battlegrounds were all hers even if they didn’t meet her blade. She’d sent her people off like weapons, extensions of her own limbs, so it was her in the end anyway.

“I thought you said not to ruminate on what-ifs?”

Claude snorted. “Teach, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I rarely listen to my own advice.”

“Oh, I noticed.”

Claude glanced up to meet her eyes and his lips twitched. “You’re sharper than people give you credit for. I noticed that in school. Probably came from the silent observation, people felt like they could tell you anything.”

“It wasn’t intentional,” Byleth said. “It was always easier to listen than talk.”

Claude picked a piece of grass between his fingers and dropped it. “Not if you master doing both at the same time.”

Byleth drew her knee up and rested her head on it and looked at him sideways. “Tell me a Claude secret. You know too many of mine.”

“There are multiple?” Claude asked, looking intrigued.

“Don’t pivot,” Byleth said.

Claude’s lips twitched again and then he rolled onto his back, propping himself up by both elbows. He frowned up at the sky and clicked his tongue against his mouth for a moment or two. “I’m not the only heir to Almyra.”

“You have siblings?”

“Sort of,” Claude said, “You’d say they were more cousins, I think. The inheritance system works differently there than it does here. Even if I were the only one, I’d need to prove myself to seize the throne, not have it handed to me.”

Byleth didn’t exactly think anyone handed the throne to Dimitri… although before he’d come back to them, she had her concerns about how easily Gilbert and Rodrigue were putting plans into his hands as a figurehead. “Sounds like you might not want it.”

“I don’t,” Claude said. “Not if I can’t do anything with it. What’s the point if Almyra and Fódlan continue to stretch into endless misunderstandings and conflict? We end up like Duscur? Sreng?” He sighed and stared up at the sky. “Or we end up like Fódlan. It all seems like a bad choice.”

“Finding our Dance Partners isn’t necessarily going to solve those issues,” Byleth said.

“Ah, but wouldn’t that be nice, Teach?” Claude asked, not expecting an answer. “To have an easily wrapped up enemy that tied all the bows around the conflicts and deaths over the past decade… or even longer?”

“I don’t know if nice is the word I’d use.”

“Satisfying then,” Claude suggested.

“Not really that either,” Byleth said. “I’d like answers, but as someone who lost a bit of freewill due to… well everything we’re trying to figure out, I like the idea that we make our own decisions.”

Claude snorted. “Is the Church of Seiros changing their mission statement?”

Byleth frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Claude pushed himself up to fully sitting and brought his legs together, crossed in front of him. He stared at her, sharp green eyes assessing and examining. “The tagline for Fódlan seemed to be that your fate was in the Goddess’s hands. Your entire nobility system is based on it.”

“Crests you mean?” Byleth asked and when Claude nodded she frowned. “They’re dying out,” she said. “Give it another twenty years and it won’t matter.”

“It’ll always matter,” Claude said. He glanced over in the direction of the tent, narrowing his eyes for a moment, and then looked back at Byleth, lowering his voice. “Ingrid’s entire family settled themselves on the idea of them having a Crest of Daphnel even before she had one.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with the Church,” Byleth said.

Claude was giving her that assessing look again, it veered towards looking at her like she was stupid. “That was Edelgard’s entire manifesto wasn’t it? The Holy Kingdom of Faerghus versus the Agnostic Empire.” He let out a dry, irritated scoff. “With the Alliance caught in between.”

“I picked up on the fact that she wasn’t a fan of the Church when the Imperial Army attacked the Monastery,” Byleth said. “I meant what does that have to do with the idea of fate?”

“Chosen by the Goddess,” Claude said. “Or, cursed by the Goddess. It’s a commonly held belief, Marianne used to torture herself over it… the idea that some great being in the sky moved everyone around like chess pieces.”

“That’s what people think,” Byleth said. “It doesn’t mean it’s true.”

“It also doesn’t mean the Church doesn’t encourage that thinking,” Claude countered.

“Well _I_ don’t,” Byleth said. “I don’t care what people believe or who they believe in. I’m not…”

“Rhea,” Claude said, when she didn’t finish. “Right?”

Byleth shifted in the grass, already feeling the itch start to spread underneath her thighs where her leggings split. “Right.”

She couldn’t exactly say she’d tried to push that image away either. She hadn’t… really chosen to be Archbishop, just like she hadn’t chosen to be a professor. It just… happened. Maybe most people didn’t have their fates in the hands of a goddess, but Byleth literally did.

“The Church of Seiros is a stabilizing force,” Byleth said, repeating back a bit of what Seteth had said to talk her into it in the first place. “With all the chaos the war wrought, it helped to have that symbol. It doesn’t mean it’s always going to be that way.”

“Guess that’d be up to you, seeing as you’ll probably live long enough to see it shake out one way or another,” Claude’s voice was clipped, his face a shade angry, but he immediately looked like he regretted saying that. “Sorry. That was—”

“Right,” Byleth said. She felt like she was chewing on glass. “You’re right. I have … time ahead of me to make things different, I’ll get to see if they change or not. That’s what Rhea was doing for at least a century.”

Byleth rubbed her knuckles against her brow, breathing out. “It’s so stupid. People would kill for immortality or being long-lived but all I want is to… be normal.”

“It’s not stupid,” Claude said. “Part of living is the fact that there’s an expiration date. People wouldn’t be so motivated to make their mark on history if they knew they had centuries to do it.” He gestured into the air. “Look at Edelgard. If what Lin said was true, she had an even shorter time limit and that kind of drive pushed her way farther than anyone expected.”

Without anyone else around, it was easier to talk about it without judgement. Byleth had always been expected to be one-sided about it (and she was in the end), but it hadn’t stopped her for from seeing what was actually there. “She rallied… a lot of support before she was even twenty.” And it hadn’t been easy to win. It had been a constant uphill struggle that they’d barely made it past.

Edelgard knew too, that when they’d won, with her alive the fighting wouldn’t stop, because she’d carved that much out for herself. She must’ve known that Dimitri would never strike her down for it unless she attacked. Byleth had been thinking about that moment, when she thought the knife had hit lower, for a very long time. Edelgard wasn’t the kind of woman who would make a last petty strike, for as much as Byleth understood her (which wasn’t enough), that was at least true.

“Do you think,” Byleth started, but then stopped, feeling stupid about it.

“Constantly,” Claude said, smiling encouragingly. “But you’ll have to be more specific.”

“Our Dance Partners,” Byleth said. “They hate the Children of the Goddess, but does that mean they’re human or are they something else? Have they passed down an immortal grudge or are they as long lived?”

Claude looked like he was considering that. His brows furrowed and he sucked in part of his lower lip. “Good question. They’ve got the patience of someone who lives a long time, but the technological advancements, that seems like the kind of thing built on with generations, not refined through time by a singular source.” He let out a dry scoff. “I feel like every time we get close to figuring it out, it seems farther away from us.”

The night was quiet, beyond a dimmed fire, crickets chirping, and the breathing of a wyvern and pegasus a bit louder than whatever hint of cool late summer breeze could make its way down here. Byleth felt like her entire life, something had always been just a little bit out of reach. At first it was Sothis… that dream of a girl and a throne. The dream of that fight… that angry war, one she hadn’t had in years. The feeling she had in Zanado, or the way she could read the writing in that grave. Everything felt close, but nothing felt close enough.

Claude was looking at her again. She felt like maybe she was a mystery he was still trying to figure out too.

“Claude,” she asked, again. “What was your dream?”

All that happened, was that he looked away from her, down at the ground, with a sad smile. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not going to live long enough to see it through.”

“I might,” Byleth said.

He looked up at that, met her eyes, and something more than assessment was in his gaze as he looked at her. “Yeah,” Claude said. “Maybe.” He sighed and laid down again, not uncrossing his legs. “Ask me again when this is over, hey?”

“Are you going to answer?” Byleth asked, lips twitching.

Claude laughed, it sounded much less strained than any of his previous hints of one. He brought his gaze from the sky to her face and smiled. “Yeah, Friend. I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> meanwhile, somewhere in garreg mach, seteth feels a great disturbance in the force, as if two troublemakers set to ruin his life have joined forces to discuss church efficacy


	13. Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain chats up some of the palace staff to avoid an awkward encounter with a noble.
> 
> (or why must sylvain's mouth work before his brain does?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i spent an absurd amount of time looking up germanic/russian names for the palace staff only to find out that apparently dimitriland is french so we are just ignoring that with a hand wave

The east most solarium, also the smallest, was usually occupied by castle staff, which Sylvain thought were very good people, which was why he headed towards there — not at all avoiding Viscountess Fleuriau. Besides having a good relationships with the servants meant he got extra dessert when Elsie was working the dining service.

Agnia was resting with her feet up near one of the farthest windows. The prince’s main nanny had a thousand yard stare, which Sylvain noted and would mention to Dimitri that maybe she needed a vacation. It wasn’t too crowded, which was fine with Sylvain as he slunk onto one of the fainting couches.

The two chatterboxes near him quieted down when he did.

“I’m not here, continue gossiping,” Sylvain said, waving them on. He wondered if he could get a nap in before he had to drag himself out to play nice with Viscountess Fleuriau — she really could hold a grudge, it had been _years_ since he’d ‘courted’ her daughter and they’d barely gotten that far. Adaline hadn’t even gotten her stays off before they got caught by the Viscount.

Rolf looked hesitantly at Sylvain, he was sitting fairly close to Evgenia, which was interesting, but also probably not since they were both serving in the Kingdom Army. Interesting that they both were here and not in any of the other usual spots, however. “We weren’t gossiping.”

“Yes, they were,” said Johannes, the prince’s literacy tutor, an older gentleman with gray streaked mauve hair, who was drinking tea. Intractable, that one.

Evegnia glared at him and then cleared her throat. “I was only saying that it’s… strange that he doesn’t excel more.”

“He’s trying?” Rolf said, sounding extremely weak in his defense of whoever this was.

Evegnia sighed heavily. “Yes, but he has a minor crest of Cichol, he should be doing better than Andrey at the fundamentals of Thoron.”

Rolf seemed to cave to her argument, which was disappointing. He frowned at his hands on the table. “I don’t understand it…”

“It’s because crests are bullshit,” came a voice near Johannes. Sylvain wasn’t strictly familiar with the shape of her head yet, but he was pretty sure that was Genevieve, the person Felix totally wasn’t jealous of, and another excuse to be slouching around here since he did say he’d watch her. It was great when things turned up his favor so easily.

“What?” Evengia turned sharply towards the prince’s music tutor.

Genevieve was facing away from Evengia and Rolf, on a settee with a book in her hand. She flipped a page. “Crests are a one-time power boost that work erratically, you get a better judge of magic potential from if someone has a natural talent for math or music.”

“You clearly don’t understand what you’re speaking of,” Evengia said, looking pretty prickly. Sylvain had seen that face turned on new squires, the poor bastards. “Crests are gifts from the Goddess and their power is why Fódlan is always sought after.”

Another page turned. “You can invade countries over bullshit too.”

Sylvain tried very hard to turn his sharp laugh into a cough, but he was pretty sure he failed when Rolf and Evengia frowned in his direction and Johannes covered a smile with another sip of tea.

“I don’t need magic lessons from the music tutor,” Evengia snapped.

“Good, because I wasn’t offering,” Genevieve retorted, still not turning around.

Evengia let a loud, huffed breath out through her nose. For someone with very little nobility in their background, she sure was good at playing the part. She could give Gilbert or Seteth a run for their money in that regard. “You don’t have a crest so how would you know anything about it?”

Genevieve tipped the book towards herself, and pitched her head over her shoulder towards Evengia. “I know that you’re wasting your time trying to teach someone who you think is talented because of crests, rather than someone who you said yourself is already excelling.”

Sylvain could practically feel the heat emanating off Evengia as she likely resisted the urge to challenge Genevieve to a duel (generally frowned upon among the army and staff, even if it would be entertaining).

“I don’t have to listen to this heretical nonsense,” Evengia said, standing up. Rolf stood up with her. “Let’s go, we can find a more suitable place for our conversations.”

A fair hand waved in the air in her direction as Genevieve turned her attention back to her book, which made Evengia mutter a few fairly descriptive expletives before stomping off and almost bowling into Delimira, the laundress, who was entering. Rolf followed soon after, making an apology in her direction.

Delimira was confused for a moment, looking after them, but then her shrewd grey eyes landed on Sylvain. “Avoiding Viscountess Fleuriau, Lord Gautier?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Sylvain said. “We have a wonderful working relationship.”

“Mmm,” she said, sounding disbelieving.

“Maybe I was waiting for you,” Sylvain said, because keeping on Delimira’s good side meant the warmest room in the entire castle in the winter was available to sneak into—a trick he’d figured out at seven with the former laundress.

Flirting with her took about ten minutes, mostly because, for all protests, she really enjoyed it. Sylvain suspected she wasn’t getting a lot of attention from her husband these days, but as much as he enjoyed overhearing gossip, it was a little rude to participate. Usually. Unless it was really good.

“You know it’s not proper for you to be associating with the staff,” Delimira said, far too late and far too amused.

“Thank you,” Sylvain said. “I make it a daily exercise to ignore propriety in all its forms.”

Delimira laughed and shook her head. “Then you are exceeding, my lord.”

“Flirt,” Sylvain chastised.

Delimira laughed, a hint of embarrassment around it and stood up shaking her head to cross the room to go sit with the friend she’d come here to meet. Karolina, the head baker, looked amused and like she was going to roast her, but sadly Sylvain wasn’t close enough to hear the older ladies chat.

He noticed a few other changes in the room he’d apparently missed while caught up in wooing Delimira. Sylvain had noticed Johannes leave, tea set in hand, with an amused nod in his direction, but he hadn’t noticed when Dimitri’s steward, Cord, had sauntered in. Apparently already fairly comfortable, sitting across from Genevieve’s settee on an end table. She didn’t look particularly pleased by it, but Cord didn’t seem to be able to pick up on that as he must’ve used all his skill in getting Dimitri’s papers set in the exact right order every morning.

Sylvain could see the inevitable fallout of someone with too little charm attempting to court someone too polite to extricate themselves and he really had to watch out for Glenn’s best interests (and it had nothing at all to do with another excuse to avoid meeting the Viscountess). He hoisted himself up off the fainting couch and strode over, where Cord was midway through offering to show Genevieve around the castle’s hedge maze.

“Sorry,” he said to Genevieve, who’s look back at him was indecipherable, “I was distracted by Delimira’s loveliness, but I’m here now. No need to keep my seat warm, Cord.”

“Lord Gautier,” Cord said, frowning up at him. “This isn’t exactly a seat.”

“You would be right,” Sylvain said and pulled an actual chair (well an ottoman) over towards himself to sit down on, smiling. He didn’t break eye contact, until he saw the little twitch in the steward’s jaw.

Cord stood awkwardly and nodded towards Genevieve. “The offer stands, whenever you’d like.”

Genevieve gave him a pursed smile and nodded. She looked a hair more comfortable when he’d walked off, but still leveled Sylvain with a look. “I didn’t require a rescue.”

“I know,” Sylvain said, grinning. “I heard you earlier decimating Evengia.”

She looked a little embarrassed and moved some stray hair that had fallen out of an hastily done bun, back over her shoulder. “Didn’t mean to offend.”

“You _didn’t_ ,” Sylvain said and laughed at Genevieve’s surprised look. “Crests _are_ bullshit and honestly, Glenn’s tutors _should_ think so.” He crossed one leg over the other, throwing that foot on the table Cord had vacated. “And Glenn doesn’t sound like a cat running over keys on the harpsichord so it seems like everything is going well in that regard.”

The mention of either music or Glenn had her posture relax slightly and she smiled. “Yes, well, he’s got an ear for it, but I wouldn’t expect he’ll be writing concertos any time soon.”

“I did read that right?” Sylvain asked, gesturing behind him, where Cord had made his exit. “The thing you didn’t need rescuing from. Wouldn’t have wanted to break up a _tête-à-tête_.”

Genevieve snorted and then shook her head. “The attention is because I’m new, it’ll pass.” At Sylvain’s confused look she elaborated. “It’s like the orchestra, you see the same people day in and day out so when someone new comes to replace your flautist, they’re a hot commodity for a moment.”

“I should’ve joined the orchestra,”Sylvain said, thoughtfully. He’d never considered it before but between Manuela, Dorothea, and Genevieve that was clearly an untapped resource. 

Genevieve eyed him sideways, lips quirking. She really reminded him of Dorothea, not in looks (her pallor was lighter, her hair was darker, and her eyes were a completely different shape), but the way she sized him up pretty quickly. Years ago it might’ve been a challenge. “I give it a week before the novelty wears off,” she said, and then paused thoughtfully, tapping her fingers against her book, “well maybe two, I am very attractive.”

Sylvain laughed. He really did like her. “Glenn seems to agree.”

Her smile got a little wider. “I think he’s happy to have a shared interest in something. No offense, but Faerghus is a little pushy on the ‘must wield a lance as a toddler’ front.” She looked down at her book with an amused scoff, “ _Probably_ why you won the war.”

“No offense taken,” Sylvain said, “First lances are issued after labor, they’re a bit smaller and less sharp than the bigger ones you get when you turn two.”

He took her amused smile as a jumping off point for that last thing she said. “Where are you from?”

The amused smile disappeared and she became difficult to read again. Sylvain was usually pretty good at reading people (especially women, he had plenty of practice), but something about her eyes made it hard to tell if her pupils were dilating or not.

“You said, ‘you’ won the war,” he pointed out.

“Nowhere in particular,” Genevieve said, after a moment. “I was in Rowe last, before that Albetran.” She tapped her fingers against her book again. “I suppose I’m from Goneril if you go far back enough.”

“That’s a lot of travel.”

She shrugged. “My business isn’t quite the stable market, especially during wartime. I’m glad Dorothea recommended me, the Leiter Troupe was wonderful, but they kept cutting back. Spoken theatre is gaining popularity and you don’t need to pay the salaries for a thirty piece band.”

“Enjoying yourself then?” Sylvain asked. “Even with the unwanted attention.”

Genevieve cocked a dark eyebrow at that. “I teach one student for an hour a day and make more than if I was a lead at Mittelfrank. It doesn’t really matter if I’m enjoying myself.”

Sylvain scoffed and leaned back on the ottoman, almost losing his balance before he remembered there wasn’t a back to the stool and then re-righting himself. “I would hope all of the staff of the palace is enjoying themselves, otherwise what am I doing here?”

“What _are_ you doing here?”

Rather than answer that, because if he did he’d have to admit that he really did need to go entertain and fend off the viscountess, he deflected. “What are you reading?”

That got an immediate reaction and Genevieve put her hands over the book to cover the title. “Nothing important.”

Sylvain grinned. “It’s a dirty book?”

“ _No_.”

It was far to easy to get the book out of her hands, especially with how immediately flustered she got at that question. Her skin hid absolutely nothing of the flush on her face, it was worse than Felix… reminded him of needling Lysithea. He held the book up and away from her attempts to grab it back, laughing as he stood so she really couldn’t get it back and then squinted down at the summary and blinked.

“The true tale of Udolpho von Trayer’s blood-soaked murder and subsequent haunting?”He balked down at her. “What the hell kind of sex book is this?”

“It’s _not_ ,” Genevieve said, trying to take the opportunity to snatch it back from him, but he had at least a foot on her and it was easy to play keep-away.

“I mean I’ve heard of people being into this kind of thing, but I thought it was a joke… or honestly there was a guy at school I could’ve believed…”

“It’s not a sex book!” Genevieve said, her voice rising in pitch, and making note of the attention she’d gotten from the rest of the people in the solarium. “Please give it back,” she said, holding her hand out.

Sylvain flipped through it for a second before finally returning it. “Is it the murder part or the ghost stuff that gets you going?”

“Neither,” Genevieve said, settling herself on the settee with a death grip on the book. She was still flushed and not making eye contact with him. “It’s… _historical_.”

Sylvain raised an eyebrow, but she still wasn’t looking at him so she didn’t see it. “Historical murder?”  
  
“Aren’t they all?” she said, hotly and then met his gaze again, lifting her chin defiantly. “I didn’t ask you if _you_ wanted to read it.”

Sylvain held his hands up, relenting. “Fine, fine. Although I’m pretty sure if you need to fend Cord off again, you can tell him what you’re reading.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Lord Gautier,” she said, stiffly.

Sylvain put his hand to his chest. “Ouch. Fine, I’ll go bore myself with important noble things and leave the fun crest-haters murder club alone.”

The look Genevieve gave him was once again indecipherable, but he really did need to bite the strap and go see Viscountess Fleuriau. Maybe he could mention the murder book as an excellent broaching topic to put her off balance and less likely to attempt to murder _him_. He shook his head, made a quick nod to Delimira and Karolina who definitely were going to be talking about him after he left.

Sylvain realized once he’d reached the door that murder was surrounding him, because Felix’s eyes were full of it from where he had clearly been by the entryway to the solarium for a while.

“Fleuriau was asking for you. She’s in the northwest sitting room,” Sylvain’s husband said stiffly, before turning around sharply and striding away from him.

Sylvain caught up to him fairly quickly. He waited, keeping pace, because he could read Felix better than anyone — and as expected, Felix turned on him once they were further down the hall in the midst of a minor amount of privacy. “Did you even listen to what I said?”

“Yes,” Sylvain said. “You said you _weren’t_ jealous.”

Reading Felix and knowing the right thing to say were never the same thing. It really was unfair how cute he looked when his nostrils flared. Sylvain could never master the edge between riling Felix up into angry sex and getting a sword thrown at him.

“I don’t get jealous,” Felix snapped. “Obviously. I put up with your… insatiable urge to charm everything with a skirt for years, up through you weaponizing it.”

Weaponizing it wasn’t exactly what Sylvain would call being nice to people and getting them comfortable instead of stiffly always waiting for a shoe to drop from either rank or general stuffiness.

“That’s a little harsh,” Sylvain said. “And yeah, you _usually_ don’t get bothered, even if you give me rude looks when Elsie gives me extra servings of trifle, but that’s generally your default face.”

“Would you take one thing seriously for even a second?” Felix said, more agitated than normal.

Shit, he _was_ jealous. Although Sylvain had no idea why and why now. If the flirting had bothered him this much, Sylvain would’ve reeled it back ages ago, but it had never gotten more than an eye roll. Besides, Sylvain did think he was a little more subtle handed than the academy and _wasn’t_ actually trying to sleep with people, to give himself some credit. “I am serious. You’ve gotten jealous before.”

“Name a time,” Felix snapped, challenging him like it was a duel.

Sylvain couldn’t think of a specific example with himself (which… was a slight blow to the ego, honestly), but there was an easy one to lay out. “Okay, Dedue?”

Felix’s anger quickly shifted into irritated confusion. “What? When were you — did you and Dedue—”

Sylvain laughed sharply. “No, are you kidding me? Mercedes would have killed me… I didn’t say jealous of _me_. You were jealous of him and Dimitri.”

Felix’s hand was halfway outstretched in what was either a choking motion or a gesticulation that did not get completed with his speech. “What?”

Sylvain sighed and rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “Come on, Felix. You never gave a shit about the Duscur thing, but you’ve always been sore that Dedue took your spot as Dimitri’s best friend.”

Sometimes… during moments like these, Sylvain wished he had the ability to walk back the last few moments and not say the _worst_ thing possible, because the way Felix’s mouth clenched, and his fists tightened before he turned off in an angry huff, meant he had tipped far past the ‘angry sex’ stage of a fight.

Sylvain huffed out a breath and raked his hands through his hair. He was _right_ though. Occasionally, wasn’t he allowed to rub that in?

“Fantastic job talking myself out of sex for the next week,” Sylvain muttered to himself, walking in the other direction towards his responsibilities of putting up with Viscountess Fleuriau, who, on the sort of upside, absolutely could not be worse than that little spat.

He spent the walk to sitting room trying to come up with ways to get Felix not to be mad at him without outright lying and saying he was completely devoid of jealousy or petty nature. He’d gotten some ideas, but most of them involved bribery and the only thing Felix liked being bribed with were also things that could murder Sylvain.

Before he figured it out and before he reached the viscountess, he ran into Mavis, coming back from outside the castle. They had a very sour look on their usual dour face.

“No ghosts, I take it?” Sylvain said. He couldn’t even muster up the amusement for how tortured Ashe had to have been on that goose chase. And the day had started so well.

Mavis looked up at him, the kohl around their eyes smudged more than usual. “I wouldn’t know, the knight assigned abandoned me.”

“That doesn’t sound like Ashe,” Sylvain said, looking behind Mavis, to see where he was. “Where is he?”

“As I said,” Mavis said, tersely, “I do not know. He abandoned me and I had to make my way back alone.”

“Wait, wait,” Sylvain held up his hands, stoping Mavis from moving forward. “Ashe… _disappeared_ during a mission about things disappearing? And you _left_ him there?”

Mavis did not seem to enjoy the implication and frowned at Sylvain… well they were always frowning, so frowned harder. “I searched and found no sign of them nor any hint of the supposed supernatural. I will not waste time in a village I do not know waiting for someone having a tryst.”

Sylvain stared at them, but Mavis shifted past Sylvain and walked away in the other direction, with a swoosh of dirtied black fabric. Sylvain’s brain was moving too fast to process all the information at once and stop them again. There was absolutely no way that Ashe would abandon anyone, even Mavis, no matter how prickly they were, especially during official business of the Kingdom Army.

Sylvain pressed his palms to his temples and grunted out in displeasure. “Why must my actions always have _consequences_?” he asked the universe, before turning to make his way towards the barracks and his horse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> later, the quartermaster in charge of the training yards once again both hated duke fraldarius for ruining his equipment and loved him for providing job security


	14. Footholds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ingrid, Byleth, Claude, and Linhardt explore the ancient temple, they hope will lead them to answers.
> 
> (or the story of ingrid galatea, always surrounded by impulsive boys)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for the kudos and comments so far!

The Professor looked… oddly exhausted. They hadn’t trekked that far, it was still midday, but for some reason on approach to what Linhardt claimed was the most likely place for an entrance to the secret mysterious temple, she had suddenly become wan and looked uneasy on her feet.

“Are you all right, Your Grace?” Ingrid asked her.

The Professor nodded and straightened up, but Ingrid could still tell something was off. She didn’t press, as Claude and Linhardt were already giving too many crafty side looks about whatever they discussed in secret whispers. Ingrid really didn’t trust either of them and was glad she was here to provide a voice of reason amongst the chaos.

“We could fly up to the top to scout and then see if there’s an opening from there?” Claude suggested, squinting up at the tall structure that appeared to be embedded in the side of a moss and vine covered mountain.

“No,” the Professor said, shortly. “Those… birds are up there. It wouldn’t work.”

“We,” Linhardt paused, “well one of you, could scale the side, there appears to be vines to grab onto.”

“No,” the Professor said again, “it’s too slippery and the vines aren’t strong enough.”

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Claude asked, surprising Ingrid. “You do look a little peaked there, Teach.”

The Professor nodded and waved him off. “We’re not going to get in there through any conventional means, it’s clearly set up to be difficult to access.” She turned towards Linhardt who had opened his mouth. “Underground isn’t going to work either. The terrain is too dense, it’ll collapse on us.”

Claude narrowed his eyes at her, concern on his face replaced with suspicion. “How do you know this?”

The Professor shrugged. “Experience.”

This was the way it always was. The Professor knew the battlefield in a way no one Ingrid had ever fought with did. She always knew the right maneuver to approach and who was best to pair together. There was no way they would have survived the war without her.

“What if we climbed without the vines?” Ingrid suggested.

Claude turned his suspicion towards her. “Do you have octopus hands we don’t know about?”

“No, but I know how to climb,” Ingrid said. She’d had to, to keep up with the boys. They were always tearing through trees and cliffs and it felt good to get one more foothold past them to make up for the times she was left out.

“I don’t know,” the Professor said, warily. She bit her lip and the squinted up into the skyline likely scanning for any potential dangers that were unseen from their perspective.

“It seems the most logical approach,” Linhardt said, “would also not be the safest, but given that there does appear to be some sort of… entrance towards the higher point of the cliff it should work.”

“Should doesn’t really comfort me,” the Professor said, rubbing the back of her hand over her forehead and then pushing back the hair that had fallen there. “Are you sure, Ingrid?”

Ingrid nodded. “It might take some time, but I’ve climbed worse and in the winter.”

“Would be less likely to set off the danger alarm to our bird friends,” Claude said, consideringly.Ingrid wasn’t sure if him agreeing with the idea suddenly made her feel less sure about it.

“All right,” the Professor said. “But be careful, go slow, and we’ll be ready to… jump up and get you if we need to.”

Ingrid laughed at the mental image, but nodded. She unhooked Lúin from her back and took her gloves off, setting them with the rest of her gear. Ingrid checked on Asper, stroking her bare hand down the sturdy neck of her pegasus, and then gauged her route upwards. It wouldn’t be easy, but if nothing else would work, then they had to try _something_ and she didn’t hear the others recommending their scaling skills.

Ingrid remembered the first time she did this. Dimitri had accidentally thrown the ball they were playing with too high (far higher than anyone without a Blaiddyd Crest could) and while Sylvain made jokes, Dimitri fretted, Felix consoled, and Glenn heckled, Ingrid thought it didn’t seem _that_ high and had made her way up. It had impressed them once she’d reached the top. Thinking back it didn’t seem nearly as daunting as this climb, but the years that passed she’d climbed further and farther and a fear of heights had never occurred to her.

That didn’t mean she was careless or not aware of what a steep fall could do.

Ingrid climbed methodically, finding her footholds and making sure they could support her weight when she shifted, before reaching the next handhold. It was arduous and even more difficult, as she listened to the Professor and did _not_ grasp at easy to reach vines, that on closer inspection looked caked with some sort of dewy liquid which would make them difficult to hang onto.

Ingrid didn’t know _how_ the Professor always knew these things, but she was thankful she did. Ingrid didn’t look down, but rather kept moving upwards. The boredom likely would’ve sunk in for one of the boys by now, either causing them to quit, or stubbornly push forward and make a mistake. If there was one thing Ingrid was good at, it was waiting and being patient.

Her mind didn’t wander, focused on the task at hand, and so she was unsurprised how fatigued she felt when she was almost near what Linhardt had described as an entrance. She pulled herself up, forcing herself not to rush for the last leg of the journey, and finally dragged herself into the small divot in the stonework. There was definitely a structure here that wasn’t part of the cliff surrounding it—it was difficult to tell if it was carved into the cliffside or if the stones had somehow shifted around it.

There was a symbol carved in the stonework, one she hadn’t seen before and decided not to touch. It was a troublesome thought, that she’d climbed all the way up here only to have to climb down and likely piggyback Linhardt, like one of her children, all the way up again.

There were pieces to it that appeared to be slotted into place and therefore probably movable.

Ingrid could figure this out, even if she wasn’t a crest scholar or a master tactician. She paced the small path that was no more than three steps in each direction and stared at the symbol. It appeared to be a pattern of some sort, but even recalling the crypts of the Eastern Church, there was no familiarity to it.

So she stopped trying to think of it as familiar. Ingrid looked at it as if it were a puzzle. She’d done a lot of puzzles lately, Osahar liked them and it made him feel calmer. He’d been older than the rest of the children she and Dorothea had adopted and being away from Duscur had been harder on him than his little brother. Sharing that with him had opened him up a little bit more day by day and made her feel as if she hadn’t made a mistake taking the boys into their already crowded home.

“Okay,” Ingrid said to the symbol. “How would my son start this off?”

She paced around the sides of the symbol, feeling better moving than standing and looming over it. There was a pattern to it, the longer she looked at it, the sides outstretched in three different directions and one of them appeared to be parallel to another. Once Ingrid made that connection she closed her eyes and pictured the symbol on their kitchen table, small hands moving around to figure out the size and shape of the things until they fit together. Ingrid’s hands on his, helping him along.

After a minute of visualizing it, she was pretty sure she had some idea of how it went. If she didn’t, she was too far up to do anything about whatever ancient boobytrap it set off.

Ingrid took a breath, sent a short prayer to the Goddess, and then pushed until the stonework lines moved into the pattern that created a more structured and parallel design… once everything slotted into place, she recognized the symbol and it felt as if it should’ve been obvious from the start.

The Crest of Flames. The Professor’s crest.

There was no glow of success or poison darts, so Ingrid had to creep towards the outer edge and look down at her companions. They were waving at her and Claude was even giving her what she… assumed was a thumbs up. It was higher than she thought now that she was looking down.

If they were happy and she’d done something right, that meant she had to get down to the bottom again.

Ingrid let out a long low breath, thanked the Goddess for her progress so far, and then made her way down again, a little slower than she’d made her way up.

By the time she’d landed on the ground, Claude looked ready to jump out of his skin and Linhardt was frowning and tapping his leg fitfully.

Ingrid couldn’t be bothered with whatever was upsetting them, as she was being grasped on the forearms by the Archbishop of Seiros who was grinning at her. “You are brilliant, you know that?”

“I take it, that it worked?” Ingrid said, failing not to smile at the praise.

“Yes, the door is open, can we go now?” Linhardt asked, peevishly.

“Lin,” Claude chastened, but then added, “Thank you Ingrid, you are truly amazing and talented, but can we go now, please?” He gestured towards what had been empty stone and was now an archway leading into darkness. “Ancient temple full of secrets with the door wide open for the last half hour right there.”

“You’re both ridiculous,” the Professor said to them, but sighed and nodded. “I guess that’s the way forward. The dark mysterious cave into nothing. Not worrisome at all.”

The two grown men practically giggled as they set off towards the entrance, a light spell in Linhardt’s hand already activated as Claude pulled out a makeshift torch and lighting it. Ingrid shook her head, checked that Asper and Claude’s wyvern had been seen to, retrieved Lúin and followed a bemused former professor into the darkness.

It was a different feeling than when they entered the crypts. There was something about being surrounded by all this stone that gave Ingrid the feeling of being under the water. There was a heaviness to the air that didn’t feel like a place they should be, but not in the same way that stripping her ancestors grave had felt wrong.

The Professor held her hand forward, a gleam of light dancing in her palm as she held it up towards the wall, examining every corner.

For all the confidence Ingrid had gained being able to figure out the way in, she felt out of her depths in this place. She wasn’t sure where to look, what to look at, or honestly what they were looking for. The enemies she fought were usually in front of her… not that she hadn’t experienced underhandedness, surprises, or dirty tactics. The failed proposal that had cemented what ended up being a real proposal for her and Dorothea had been a small example of how far people were willing to go.

Ingrid had been thinking on the idea of the people they were trying to confirm or deny the existence of… the idea that the Tragedy of Duscur, of Glenn, of King Lambert, and of the repercussions and prejudice (some she’d shamefully shared) against the Duscur people, all being for what? A large chess game where the people of Fòdlan were merely pawns to be discarded for the entertainment of some undersect that sowed chaos. It was unfathomable, but still… there had never been any sense to what happened and how much it had broken so many of them. Even throughout the war, the things that happened, the way they'd gone from spending time with their friends to fighting them in the battlefield (she still remembered holding Dorothea, while she cried for her friends, the ones Ingrid had helped kill, the ones that could have so easily have been Dorothea as well had she not joined the Professor’s class), had not seemed natural.

Then again, no matter how much Ingrid would have loved to have a singular focus to place all the blame, years of war, years after the war, and marriage and motherhood had taught her that things were never quite so simple. People were never simple and she suspected that even if her life’s story had gone exactly as she’d suspected it would be written when she was ten, there still would’ve been war, people she loved still would have died, and the world would have too many things that did not make sense.

“Huh,” Claude said, pulling Ingrid out of her thoughts. “That seem… a little weird to you, Teach?”

The Professor and Ingrid caught up to him and looked up at a large, ominous statue of a woman dressed in the regalia of the Goddess. She looked down on all of them with one finger held aloft, and the other hand pressed against her chest where the Crest of Flames, presumably what the missing crest stone looked like, was centered.

“Sothis,” the Professor said, in an awed and confused voice. “How… she looks older.”

“Your Grace?” Ingrid asked.

The Professor turned towards her and the dimness that had been in her light green eyes was replaced with a sharp focus. “Sorry, its — that’s the Crest of Flames.”

“It was what was on top of the cliff as well,” Ingrid said, not pressing.

The Professor nodded and then stared up at the statue again. “So the ancient temple, that contains the secrets to the underground society that may have caused countless struggles and deaths… is a shrine to the Goddess?”

“Appears that way,” Linhardt said, circling around the base of the statue with his magical light pitched towards it and then drawing it back again to check the book in his other hand.

“Technically, it implicated the Ten Elites,” Claude said. “Who may or may not have been involved with our dance partners— _what_ is she pointing at?” He broke off his own concentration and looked up at the statue’s finger, which at first did appear to be a judgmental motherly finger, but Ingrid couldn’t fault Claude’s leap of logic.

She turned as Claude walked towards the direction the finger pointed and kept glancing back to see he was still on course. Ingrid worried about leaving Linhardt behind by himself, but as ancient temples went, she suspected whatever a giant statue was leading them towards was going to be the most dangerous, and therefore the place where she was needed.

They walked for some time, the light-spell of the Professor shifting from wall to wall, examining briefly the different writings and drawings there. They were stunning, had Ingrid gotten more than a chance to glance at them in passing, but Claude’s pace was quick.

He stopped in front of a large stone wall. There were symbols in it, much like the one above that she’d figured out how to open the door. Claude looked them over for far less time than she did and immediately started to move the pieces into place.

“I don’t think that’s the best—” the Professor started, but was cut off when the last piece slotted into place and a symbol within a symbol, the Crest of Flames spiraled around the Crest of Seiros and another Ingrid couldn’t recognize, glowed softly and then the door began to open.

Ingrid immediately took Lúin out and the Professor readied the Sword of the Creator as the door thunderously slid across some ancient mechanism.

She barely had a second to react as the familiar noise of sharp whistling indicating arrows blasted through the air, but milliseconds between her hearing the noise and even beginning to think of reacting the Professor had pushed her and Claude backwards past the danger. She looked… wan again, maybe even more so than before, even though she had not had to press them backwards too far.

“Well that was lucky,” Claude said, though he did look a little rattled. He glanced back. “Lin? None of those hit you, right?”

“None of what?” Linhardt asked back, then after a moment, “Oh…” Linhardt’s steps echoed as he came closer and then when he came into view, he looked perturbed. “No, none of the dangerous poisonous arrows hit me, Claude.”

“How do you _know_ they were poisonous?” Claude asked, which Ingrid didn’t think was the point Linhardt was making.

“They were,” the Professor said, leaning her back against the wall and taking several deep breaths. “What else would they be?”

“Sorry that was,” Claude started and then shook his head, glancing at the Professor with a strange mixture of suspicion and concern. “You sure you’re alright, Teach?”

The Professor nodded. “Yes, let’s just… proceed with caution. There’s no telling what’s in there.”

“Hopefully answers,” Linhardt said, “with less… security.”

“I wouldn’t count on that,” Claude muttered, mostly to himself. He shook his head and clapped his hands. “Shall we?”

Ingrid waited until the Professor, still appearing fatigued, nodded in agreement and then followed them in. Ingrid covered the back silently, while Linhardt appeared to move back and forth between the front and back of them, checking the different markings on the walls and referencing his book.

“That wasn’t like you,” the Professor said to Claude, pitched low.

Claude shrugged and walked towards one of the walls, where a strange mural decorated the stonework with the image of a star falling towards the ground and then the next, like a continuation, appeared to be a dragon emerging from it like it was an egg.

“I occasionally make mistakes,” Claude said, voice also low. Then after a moment, he turned towards the Professor the light from his torch turning his eyes a strange shade of viridescent. “You don’t. Seem to make mistakes, I mean.”

“That’s a bad read,” the Professor said, frowning.

“Is it?” Claude asked, looking at her intently, like Osahar did when he felt he almost had a puzzle figured out. “Because it seems like you kind of _know_ what’s going to happen sometimes.”

They both stared at each other for a long moment and then Ingrid cleared her throat, to remind them to keep moving. She really didn’t trust Linhardt on his own getting so far ahead. He could have been hit by those arrows.

They both broke their stare awkwardly and went back to pace. After a few more moments, the Professor said, “Claude… trust me that not _everything_ is worth the price of knowing.”

“Hm,” was all Claude responded with, but he seemed to leave it at that.

A little foresight from the Goddess wouldn't have surprised Ingrid, although she felt like there was something else to their conversation. She debated asking the Professor about it later, when Linhardt let out a sharp cry and then came rushing back towards them.

Lúin had been drawn and Claude had the sense to back up to a better position as the Professor and Ingrid stepped in front. Linhardt did not have to warn them of what was approaching however as the towering mechanical behemoth made its way towards them with creaky, jerked movements.

“Weren't these in the Holy Tomb?” Ingrid asked.

“Yes,” the Professor said, gritting her teeth. “Rhea’s security system.” She stepped back a bit. “This would be easier with more space.”

Ingrid nodded, although it was pointless as the Professor couldn't see it. It was difficult to see anything, with the small light from the wall torches they’d lit as they walked.

“What are they?” Linhardt asked, once he’d made it behind them.

“Resistant to magic,” the Professor said, “pretty tough against swords and basically designed to piss me off.”

“They have less mobility,” Ingrid said, something that was easier to take advantage of when she was mounted. “They’re also slow,” she added. “If we can take down the barrier, we should be able to —“

There wasn’t really much more to say as a giant lance hurtled its way towards them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> linhardt, when the panic quells, realizes that now he can't really give claude shit for getting excited and setting off a dangerous trap


	15. Drowsed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashe falls in and out of consciousness as he and Caspar deal with their current situation. 
> 
> (or caspar and ashe sitting in a cell, ten feet apart cos they're not gay)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i totally didn't spend hours trying to come up with names that fit the theme of the way people were named in game...
> 
> (also the chapter summary joke is a vine reference and also how i write my notes)

Ashe woke up to the sound of Caspar yelling. He had a moment where he wanted to tell him to stop yelling, because his head hurt, but also because how could they be stealthy if he was yelling? Then it all came back to him as hard as the stabbing pain from where he’d been knocked unconscious did.

Right. They’d screwed up. They weren’t dead so that was something, he supposed, or supposed as much as he could with how hard it was to get his eyes to fully open. When he was finally able to, it was… dim and Caspar was still yelling… at someone.

“You’re all talk from out there? Why don’t you come in here and say it to my fists?” Caspar yelled at the blurry figure behind … bars? Actually now that Ashe could think a little, he realized Caspar was blurry too. That was probably not a good sign.

“Utterly and truly pathetic,” said a voice, that after getting close enough to listen to a few times Ashe recognized as Bias, the dark mage working with Metodey. “It’s a shame we’re not killing you outright.”

“You could try,” Caspar said, his voice tinged with anger… and maybe something else. Ashe couldn’t really tell.

Bias snorted and then maybe turned around, the blurred figure shifted a little and then slowly disappeared. Caspar was still yelling after it… the blurred image that Ashe was certain was Caspar anyway. The voice was hard to mistake.

Why had Ashe thought a stealth mission with Caspar was a good idea? He should have sent word back to the Kingdom and gotten reinforcements, or made contact with Leonie… they just kept moving and then there were people… villagers that…

Ashe wretched, realized he was laying down on something, tipped himself sideways and vomited on the floor.

“Ashe?” Caspar’s voice cracked a little and then Ashe felt himself being lifted up to sitting. His head was still pounding, but this close he could make Caspar out a little bit better. “Hey, hey, Ashe, c’mon. Stay up, okay?” _Now_ he was quiet. Why couldn’t he have been quiet before?

Ashe meant to say that or ask where they were or ask what had happened to the villagers that Metodey and Bias and the others they hadn’t seen coming were doing something to, but instead he huffed out a breath and groaned in pain.

“Ah hells,” Caspar said. “You’re not gonna die on me, okay?”

Ashe attempted a nod and Caspar laughed, but there was something around the edges of that laugh that made Ashe want to hug him.

“Ashe… _Ashe_?”

The second time, or what Ashe thought was the second time, he woke up, there were cool hands on his face, too small to be Caspar’s. For a second he thought he was home and Mercedes or Dorothea, or even the Professor or Annette was healing him, but as the cool fingers held his face and his vision became less blurry, the face was unfamiliar and unfriendly.

“Is that done?” said a voice, that was definitely Metodey this time. “I wouldn’t _mind_ having the chance to kill him now, but it’s gone above my head.”

“Metodey,” the woman, who wasn’t Bias said, “would you mind gagging yourself as well so I can fucking concentrate?”

“How hard is it to heal a head wound, Cleo?” Metodey snapped back.

“Harder than giving you one,” the woman, Cleo muttered. She stared at Ashe. “You’re cognizant,” she said. “Can you tell me your name?”

Ashe didn’t say anything, though he thought maybe he could.

“His name is—” Metodey started, but Cleo turned her head towards him and he snapped his mouth shut.

She turned back towards Ashe. Her skin was very pale and she had red hair the same color as Kronya. It wasn’t very reassuring. Cleo narrowed her eyes at him. “Fine. Don’t speak, but it’s in your best interest to have this head wound fully healed.” She sighed, boredly. “Then again maybe it’s not, maybe it’s easier to bleed out and die on the floor.”

“Who are you?” Ashe said, his throat tore around the words and they sounded sandpaper rough coming out.

“Caretakers,” Cleo said. She didn’t quite smile, but something about her expression looked satisfied. She stood up from where Ashe had been laying down and walked towards what was definitely a cell door and gestured at Metodey with an impatient hand gesture.

He unlocked the mechanism and opened it, letting her out. “He needs water every few hours,” she said, “and you need not to starve them if you want them to be of any use.”

“ _Do_ we want them to be of use?” Metodey asked.

Cleo shrugged. “I listen to whatever Leto tells me and I listen to whatever Charsis tells me. As of now they want them alive.”

“What if their orders conflict?” Metodey asked, shooting a scathing look in Ashe’s direction before turning back to her.

“Then we’re fucked, but what else is new,” she said, and disappeared past the edge of where Ashe could see.

Metodey was watching her go, but he turned to look at Ashe now, narrowing his eyes to pinpoints. “The only reason you’re not dead is because this is going to be so much more painful.”

“Thank you,” Ashe said, because he was still groggy and he felt as if he had to say _something_.

Metodey seemed confused by that, which was a benefit, Ashe figured, but then the man who should’ve already been dead, shook his head and disappeared into the same direction Cleo had.

It took Ashe longer than he liked to get back to his feet, once he did he saw Caspar and felt a mixture of relief and anger. Caspar had a thick cloth shoved into his mouth and was chained up to a bench on the opposite side of Ashe. Ashe moved towards him, too quickly, as he immediately wavered and had to catch himself on the wall next to him, and then finally reached Caspar and took the gag out.

“Are you okay?” Ashe asked.

“Am _I_ okay?” Caspar said, although it didn’t seem like a question. “You scared the—how’s your head?”

“Better,” Ashe said. “I can’t… remember what happened.”

“We had an up on them,” Caspar said, his face was mottled with bruises, but it weirdly suited him and didn’t seem to be more than superficial. “Then they got backup. I… I hope some of those villagers got away. It wasn’t right what they were doing to them.”

Ashe remembered that part and suddenly felt sick again. He sat down on the bench next to Caspar, then realized their legs were touching and slid slightly away since Caspar couldn’t with the way he was restrained.Ashe wasn’t sure he could pick those locks in his current state. Their best bet was for him to trust that Cleo wanted to keep him more than barely alive until they had an opportunity.

They’d had opportunity to help those villagers too. Caspar had rushed in, but even now Ashe couldn’t blame him. He’d seen horrors in the war, but the way they’d cut those people open, while they were still alive…

Ashe heaved out nothing, since he didn’t have anything left to throw up.

“Hey,” Caspar said, quieter. “Relax, okay? Not much we can do at the moment, I guess.”

“That’s rather restrained for you,” Ashe said, leaning his forearms against his thighs to keep himself upright.

“Well I’m actually restrained, so…” Caspar said and gave an attempt at a smile.

Ashe felt like crying again, but he wasn’t sure it was worth a headache on top of his head wound. “No one knows where we are,” he said.

“Yeah,” Caspar looked away from him. “You were right, we should’ve sent word to Leonie, I just…”

“I know,” Ashe said. “It’s not your fault.”

“Ashe…” Caspar started to say, but Ashe felt too tired to hear him. His head was heavy and he felt himself crumple over onto his arms crossed over his thighs and into a deep sleep.

Ashe woke up a few more times after that, mostly to someone feeding him water. It felt wonderful to drink, but then he immediately wanted to vomit it up. The Cleo woman came again, frowning at him, and her cool fingers made work on his head until the nausea and most of the pain stopped. He was still tired though, his head felt heavy, and everything was out of focus as she told him to rest.

They’d moved at some point. Ashe wasn’t sure if he’d been awake or not for most of it. He remembered Caspar yelling, mostly. And getting into a fight with one of the masked men dragging them into a cart. Ashe was pretty sure one of those men had lost some teeth, but Caspar’s arm bent the wrong way as he was thrown bodily back and Ashe couldn’t find the strength to see if he was all right.

The next cell was more closed off. Both he and Caspar were restrained and even if he wasn’t recovering from an injury he wasn’t sure he could get them out of this. If they’d moved… it didn’t seem good. The better Ashe felt physically the worse he felt about their situation and the people he’d left at home. He didn’t want to leave Sarai and Braun alone, he was the only family they had left.

“Hey,” Caspar said, kicking Ashe’s foot with his own. “You looked normal for a second. Still in there, bud?”

“Afraid so,” Ashe said, this time his voice sounded and felt like his own, even if it was still a little strained. “How’s your arm?”

“Ah, it’s nothing,” Caspar said with a shrug, but Ashe noticed he only shrugged one shoulder. Someone had put it in a splint, but not much else. “Almost took out that guy’s entire face with my elbow.” The grin was tinged with the strain of their current situation, but something about it felt reassuring.

“Good,” Ashe said. “He deserved it.”

Caspar looked Ashe over. “I really thought you were… well, done for. You took a full spell blast straight to the skull.”

“Oh,” Ashe said. He didn’t remember, but that made sense. “I’m better at fighting from range, I probably wasn’t paying enough attention.”

“You were—are you _kidding_?” Caspar’s voice raised a few decibels. “We had them on the ropes, until they got more people! You were great!”

“Oh,” Ashe said again, feeling a little embarrassed. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Man, if we’d had Leonie and the crew there… we probably could’a taken them. Or if they’d fight me like men and not COWARDS!!” He shouted into the small opening.

“You think she’ll find us?” Ashe asked. He didn’t have much hope of Mavis giving much effort in his regard. Maybe he should’ve been nicer to them. It wasn’t their fault they were… um… well, them.

Caspar sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know.” He looked at Ashe sideways. “You got one of those stories where a knight was in this kind of situation?”

“Yes,” Ashe said, “but most of them involved the knight seducing the guards into letting him leave, so I don’t think they’d be much help.” He’d only read them once before giving them to Sylvain.

“Might kill the time,” Caspar suggested. He looked… tired, not in the way that the last hours or days would have strained anyone, but a kind of tired Ashe knew too well. The one that came from thinking all your friends were dead.

“I can try,” Ashe offered, happy to see Caspar relax a little at that. It wouldn’t do well to start planning an escape out loud, so maybe he could think about what he was restrained with and how exactly he could (maybe) get out of it while he talked.

This time when Ashe fell asleep he knew it was coming. It was unclear what time of day it was, but even Caspar seemed tired and they’d do no good for each other if they added sleep deprivation to the situation.

Caspar was still asleep when Ashe woke up. He woke up slowly to the noise of talking and finally had enough of his senses back that he stayed silent so he could hear. He hoped they didn’t wake Caspar up.

“What exactly am I looking at?” A new woman’s voice. It sounded deeper than Cleo’s, but had less rasp than Bias’s.

“Subjects.” Another woman’s voice, huskier than the other’s. “We have some preliminary findings and we needed crestless humans so two strong individuals falling into our laps should make you happy.”

“I thought you’d perfected your findings ages ago,” the first woman said.

“We did,” the second woman said, she drew out her words, like they were amusing. “But it needs to be proven multiple times before we use it on our own. And _you_ let the only successful case disappear.”

“We shouldn’t test on children,” the first woman said firmly.

“And now we have two subjects who are not.”

The first woman scoffed. “No, we merely have a Knight of the Kingdom and Count Bergliez’s brother. That should bring no undue scrutiny from Faerghus.”

“Leto,” the second woman said, drawing out her words again, “are you worried about your old friends?”

“I’m worried that your single-minded crusade is going to ruin centuries of planning,” Leto said.

The other woman made a sound almost like a laugh. “We have eyes in Fhirdiad and besides, we’re too far ahead in my ‘single-minded crusade’ to be worried about bringing attention to it.”

“You’re a fool, Charsis.”

There was a noise, Ashe couldn’t be sure if it was a slap or hands clapping together, as there was no responding noise to indicate a reaction. Charsis sounded less amused and her words came out sharper. “You’re limited. The others don’t see it, because they see Thales in you, but I know better, Leto. Don’t I? Or should I call you P—”

“Do shut up,” Leto snapped. “Did you bring me here to brag and bloviate? Or was there an actual reason?”

“I need to make sure you still have your eyes on our goal,” Charsis said. “And you won’t let sentimentality ruin _another_ successful experiment. There is far too much riding on this one.”

“You mistake me if you think I’m sentimental after this long,” Leto said. “Thales didn’t leave you with charge of this for a reason.”

“Thales didn’t think he’d die,” Charsis pointed out. She let out a disgusted noise. “Buried as Lord Arundel. I do wonder if Edelgard knew…”

This time, Ashe was sure it was a slap. “Keep her name _out_ of your mouth.”

“Like I said, sentimental,” Charsis said, breathy and amused, and then Ashe heard footsteps trailing off.

There was another noise, like a shaky breath and then another pair of footsteps, until it was silent again.

“What the hell was that?” Caspar asked from where he _had_ apparently been awake, but had the sense to be quiet.

“I… don’t know,” Ashe said. He wished the uneasy feeling he had was still from his injury, but something about all of this didn’t feel right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at the TWSITD lunch hall, metodey always sits by himself


	16. Bittersweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mercedes realizes who the mysterious music instructor is. 
> 
> (or, inner melancholy thoughts of outwardly cheerful people)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slight cw: there are some brief mentions to struggles with pregnancy in the early part of this chapter, but nothing explicit

Mercedes enjoyed watching how soft Dedue’s face became as he patiently explained to the princess which seed to plant into the soft ground of the gardens. Valya didn’t seem to fully understand the process, but Mercedes appreciated the opportunity to observe Dedue allowing himself to be at ease, and the princess did seem to enjoy putting her hands into the dirt.

Still, observing it for too long, turned the sweetness into something sour and Mercedes didn’t like feeling that way, especially about something so nice as Dedue’s favored status with the daughter of his closest friend. She put her hand on her husband’s shoulder. “I think I’m going to get something to eat, did you want me to get you anything?”

Dedue had been smiling since they’d arrived into the garden, but it still made her feel lighter when he turned his smile towards her. He shook his head. “No, but you should go ahead. I can join you later, if you’d like."

She smiled back at him. “I’d like that.”

Valya picked up a handful of dirt and slapped it onto the ground. “That!” she said excitedly.

Dedue gave a gentle laugh and turned back towards her. “No, nothing will grow there. It needs to be in the soil, here — let me show you.”

Mercedes left them to it and strode towards the Great Hall to find something sweet to eat. It didn’t solve all of life’s problems, but a piece of cake and tea never seemed to hurt.

She really shouldn’t dwell… but… it was difficult, seeing how wonderful Dedue was with children, not only here in Fhirdiad, but at home in Duscur with the still displaced children in their care at the school. They’d been trying for their own children long enough that even without her background in medicine, Mercedes would know something was wrong.

It wasn’t like she would have thought anyone else was deficient for the same situation, but something about it made Mercedes feel like a failure. Dedue had never said anything, but she knew he wanted to start a family as badly as she did. Mercedes, of course, knew adoption was an option, but they took care of so many children as a career that it seemed impossible to pick between them. She almost wished she had Ingrid and Dorothea’s impulsive nature to immediately and instinctually know who would fit their family best.

And also… she had not had the best experience with her own two adoptions and something about bringing a child into the world that was a line to her family and a line to Dedue’s, both lost, filled a yearning in her chest that she found difficult to extinguish.

Mercedes really needed to stop dwelling on it.

She made her way into the dining area and picked through the table that was stacked full of desserts, not quite close to any normal meal time to have been cleaned out yet. She selected something with layers and peaks of sugary icing covered in a layer of chocolate shavings and then helped herself to some tea, not much minding which one she chose.

There were empty tables, but that felt discouraging at the moment. She didn’t mind being alone, but she preferred doing it in the chapel, where she never felt it.

She noticed one of the tables had a few of the palace staff she recognized, Dimitri’s steward, Cord, one of the handmaids that attended her the last time she was here, Eloise, and a stablehand she’d never gotten the name of.

Mercedes asked if she could sit with them and they politely agreed, although she didn’t enter their conversation and took a seat to the far left of the table, in case they were waiting for friends. The seat here was nice, she could hear the murmurings of the different people of the palace coming in and out, without focusing on any specifics.

She didn’t mind, however, when she noticed Felix coming in and smiled and waved at him. He seemed to frown, but still headed in her direction, carrying a plate of food. “I wasn’t planning to eat here,” he said, stiffly. It was as close to an apology as Felix gave.

It was also an easily managed opening. “If you really wanted to eat alone, you would have had food brought to your room,” she said, smiling brightly at him.

He stared at her for a moment and then let out an irritated sigh and sat down on the bench next to her, not noticing the sudden quiet in the palace staff near him. Felix really did have an intimidating air sometimes.

“Is everything all right?” she asked.

“It’s fine,” Felix said, betraying that comment by stabbing at the meat on his plate until the tray beneath it shook. He glanced sideways at her, where she was attempting not to raise her eyebrow at him, but failing. “I’ll get over it,” he amended.

The chatter around the table seemed to start up again, which was nice and made the conversation between her and Felix feel a bit less observed. “Did you have a fight before Sylvain left?”

Felix glanced at her sideways again, with a sour expression that was answer enough.

“You could send a letter?” Mercedes suggested. “To smooth things out. You’re very good at writing them, Felix.”

Felix frowned at the praise and scoffed before taking a bite of his meal. He never seemed to accept any sort of accolade that wasn’t directly related to his fighting prowess, but Mercedes had discussed at length with Annie, how well he was at letter writing. Sylvain would do well to learn, she rarely knew what was right or left with him, until he and Dedue had talked.

“I’m sure it’ll smooth out either way,” Mercedes said. She took a sip of her tea, happy that her choice was moderately sweet so it didn’t unbalance the cake.

“Do you _always_ have to be so optimistic about absolutely everything?” Felix asked.

“I don’t know,” Mercedes said. “It seems to counter your constant pessimism at least.”

He stared at her for a moment and then snorted a laugh before looking down at his food again. “It’s not pessimism if I’m _right_.”

Mercedes remembered on several occasions at school and mostly during the war when Felix had loudly told them something bad was going to happen and then as if he’d called it into occurring, it had. “Do you ever think that maybe wanting these things to happen makes them?”

“No,” Felix said. “I’m not a deity.” He frowned somewhere into the air. “I just know how the world actually works.”

“You weren’t always right,” Mercedes said and looked away from him to take a bite of her cake when she felt him turn.

“No?”

“No,” Mercedes agreed, when she met Felix’s eyes again he had narrowed them, but there was a wry smiling waiting to creep out. He’d gotten so much softer around the edges over the last few years, especially after getting married.

It passed, however, as he glanced at something over Mercedes’s shoulder and the look on his face became pinched and angry. Mercedes turned to see what he was looking at, but it was merely a few of the palace staff coming towards the table with trays of food. One of them was unfamiliar to her, the other was Jonas, one of Glenn’s personal guards, and the last was Glenn’s new music instructor. Mercedes had been certain she recognized her. She was usually so good with faces, but after speaking with Genevieve and thinking back, she couldn’t place the name or face with her time at the Royal School of Sorcery after all.

The music teacher stopped, glancing at their table, then leaned to say something to Jonas and smiled tightly before walking off. He and the woman with them that Mercedes didn’t recognize looked confused as they both approached the table.

“I thought Gen was eating with us,” Eloise asked as they sat down.

Jonas shrugged. “She said she remembered something she had to take care of.” He glanced at Cord. “Maybe she’s tired of your skirt sniffing.”

Mercedes drew her attention from Cord’s affronted response to Felix’s whose hands were gripped into tight fists around his plate. “Felix?”

“She does that every time she sees you,” Felix said, low and angry.

“Who?” Mercedes blinked, realized of course what he meant and then laughed at herself. “Oh. No. I don’t think so.” She bit her lip and looked at him. “Do you think it could possibly have something to do with the fact that you were glaring at her? You don’t have the most welcoming expression at the moment.”

“Unbelievable,” Felix said, more angry than she’d expected. He stood up and took his plate. “Maybe if your head wasn’t in the clouds, you’d notice a bit more, Mercedes.”

She tried not to frown at him as he walked off. There was obviously something bothering him or he wouldn’t have been so harsh.

The energy around the long table did seem to brighten once he’d left, which backed her theory.Still…

Mercedes attempted to spend the rest of the day and into the next thinking about what to do for Dedue’s birthday and how she could help at the palace infirmary (there was thankfully little to do in peacetime), but she couldn’t quite shake Felix’s suspicion from her head. _Had_ the prince’s tutor been avoiding her? And if so, why?

Her answer came late the next day when she heard a familiar song, no words to it, but the melody was so distinct in her memory that she felt transported back to the moment she’d last heard it. It was being hummed by a woman scribbling something into a book in one of the anterior gardens across from the hedge maze. Everything slotted immediately into place. Mercedes remembered the song, sung sweetly and jokingly by Fritz and Katrin as they delivered baked goods in the morning at House Bartels. Katrin hadn’t even been in charge of baking or anything to do with the kitchens, but she always accompanied her husband with those deliveries, singing the same song, usually holding Richie if he was well enough, and always followed by…

“Genna,” Mercedes said, walking up to her, “Genna Marten.”

The prince’s music tutor, who had been introduced as Genevieve Bisset stopped humming with a start and stared up at Mercedes with a fearful look she wouldn’t have expected from the young girl that used to insist on carrying the basket to deliver personally to Mercedes and Emile. She’d been… maybe five when Mercedes had left.

“Your hair’s much darker,” Mercedes said, feeling more secure in her guess and a little relieved that she hadn’t lost her touch with faces and names.

The fear settled into something else on Genna’s face and she sighed and closed her book. Her fingers were stained with ink and she rubbed them absentmindedly as she looked away and said softly, “I knew you’d recognize me.”

“Why didn’t you say anything, Genna?” Mercedes asked. Now that she knew who she was, her confusion over Genna’s not talking to her warred with her happiness to see someone from her childhood that had been such a sweet memory. There weren’t that many of them, especially at House Bartels, but it had been home, especially with Emile and her mother there.

“Don’t…” Genna said and looked down, still avoiding any eye contact from Mercedes. “No one calls me that anymore. Not for a long time.”

Mercedes went slowly, so she didn’t startle her again, but took a seat on the bench next to her. “Why not?”

“It’s…” Genna’s hands were shaking a little and she flattened them and the book she was holding onto her lap, pinching it shut against the quill she’d left in it. She didn’t continue wherever her sentence was going.

Mercedes attempted something else. “I recognized the tune,” she said, happily. “Does your mother still—”

Genna finally turned to look at Mercedes. Her eyes were the same deep blue that was almost black, but the expression in her gaze wasn’t familiar from Mercedes’s memory of her. But the look that she gave Mercedes _was_ all too familiar in Mercedes’s life both in and out of the war. It was the look the children they took in had far too often. Then, as if she could have ever forgotten, Mercedes remembered what she’d heard about Baron Bartels' death.

“You…” Mercedes, even after all these years, even after watching what was left of Emile die and having very little time to comfort him and no time at all to save him, had difficultly speaking of it. She’d heard the rumors. Emile had killed his father and then slaughtered the household. She hadn’t ever really, truly thought it had meant _all_ of them— “even Richie?”

The thought made her sick, she could only remember him as a toddler, no more than Valya’s age, he would’ve only been … near the same age as Genna when she’d left. Emile had been sick, but surely… not…

“No,” Genna said, giving Mercedes some minor semblance of relief. “Friedrich died a few years after you and Lady Bar—and your mother left.”

The semblance of relief did not last long. Genna stared out into nothing and continued. “Everyone else in the household died. I only survived, because Papa said he couldn’t stand losing another child and locked me in the pantry when we realized we couldn’t get out.” She blinked and shook her head, her tone all manners and little feeling. “I hope you can understand why I didn’t… feel like speaking with you, Lady Molinaro.”

She’d used to call her Lady Mercie. Mercedes took a shaky breath. “I’m so sorry, Genna. I didn’t…”

“ _Please_ don’t call me that,” Genna said, still not turning to look at Mercedes.

“Why did you change your name?” Mercedes asked, although it felt silly the moment it was out of her mouth. She’d changed her name enough times to know that circumstances dictated it. But she had to know. She had to know if Emile had been so gone even then that the madness he’d fallen into would spurn so unjustly as to hunt even the survivors down. “Did you think Emile would come after you?”

Genna was silent, but Mercedes let the silence sit long enough that she felt she’d had a chance to answer, before adding. “I’m sorry, you don’t need to answer that. I’m… I can’t even begin to explain how sorry I am for what happened.”

Genna let out a low breath and then stared up into the sky. Her dark blue eyes, that once matched her deep blue hair, were glassy. “It wasn’t Emile,” she said, shaking a little on the last syllable of his name. “I… was a commoner from a broken house and not even fourteen. I had nothing left. I had to start over.” She stood up, still not meeting Mercedes’s eyes. “Please… leave it. I don’t… Genna Marten did die at House Bartels. I’m not her anymore.”

Mercedes nodded, then realized that without looking at her, Genna would be unable to see it. “Of course, but if you need… if you want to talk about it or anything else I’d be grateful for it.”

“I won’t,” Genna said, swallowed, and then walked off.

It was quiet in this part of the courtyard, not close enough to any of the active parts of the garden to be bustling and too close to the hedge maze to have more noise than the breeze rustling the tall structured plants that made it up.

Mercedes appreciated, for the moment, the feeling of being alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the gardener discovers later that the princess, through the power of her crest, had somehow smashed several holes into the stone pathway and shoved seeds into the dirt beneath -- he wonders if he could get a job further south


	17. Sunflower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leonie runs into an old classmate, while in the midst of her no-leads search for Ashe and Caspar.
> 
> (or, leonie and sylvain are horse girls)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leonie gets a side shave, i don't make the rules, i mean i do, but i don't  
> content warning for a lot of alcohol talk, leonie is jeralt's apprentice afterall

Leonie was exhausted and all she wanted was a drink, but apparently she’d run up the tab too far for the bartender to budge. “It’s my birthday,” she said, leaning against the bar and feeling a little dirty for trying it.

Her birthday was technically yesterday, but she’d spent it knee deep in mud slogging through another empty lead on wherever the hell Caspar and Ashe had gotten off to. She was responsible for her mercenary crew, her guys (and Josie) and that included Caspar who couldn’t ever listen to her and stay still and Ashe who was technically on loan.

It had been days since weird intense magic person had left, and there was still no sign of them.

“Happy birthday,” the bartender said. “You still need to pay your tab.”

Leonie resisted the urge to flip a chair over, it would be a waste. She didn’t _have_ any money for the bar tab, because they hadn’t gotten paid for this job, because they hadn’t found anything. She’d paid out her crew anyway with what she hadn’t sent home already.

She hoped everyone in Sauin was having a good time. It had been years since she’d been back to her village, she really wanted to try for this one.

“Right,” Leonie said, knowing this was a dead end and angry that she was too low on supplies to soothe her aching head with a swig of whiskey. She sighed and pushed herself off from the bar and stomped back towards the exit. Axel and Jules were waiting outside.

“Either of you have any coin? We ran up a tab too high again.”

“ _We_ , boss?” Jules said with an annoying eyebrow raise.

She resisted punching him. “I didn’t drink _all_ of it.”

Axel wasn’t making eye contact. Oh to hell with both of them. “Whatever, do we have another night at that inn or are we roughing it?”

“Only for two rooms,” Axel said with a shrug. “It ain’t gonna fit all of us.”

Leonie sighed. “Flip a coin and figure it out; I’m gonna scout the area again.”

They nodded. Loyal they were. She understood why Jeralt ran a brigade like this, there was a sense of camaraderie; even when the day _sucked_ , you had people at your back. Stomping the ground felt good, so Leonie kept doing it as she reached Jack. Her horse whickered at her approach and she smoothed back the matted hair on his neck. She really need to get Jack really cleaned up soon, but that required coin.

Which they did not have. Or Leonie would be happily drunk by now and not riding a headache from Ailell.

“Where the hell did you go, Caspar?” she said out loud, not that Jack could understand her, but he liked being talked around other than ‘yip’ ‘dodge’ and ‘woah’.

Leonie figured she could at least brush Jack before she wasted time asking the same questions to the same people, with no results. How the hell did those two, a group including _Caspar_ , leave no trail? Were people suddenly without ears? She walked around the stables, looking for equipment to maintain horses and saw someone bringing a brilliant black mare in. The kit for the horse looked like it cost a fortune, with some pretty special looking leatherwork and even an embroidered saddle bag. Kind of a waste, in Leonie’s opinion, horses couldn’t tell they were wearing second hand leather.

The guy bringing her in was sweet talking the horse… and Leonie recognized that sweet talking. Great. Leonie figured the Kingdom would send someone after Ashe eventually, especially when his partner bailed, convinced he’d ditched them, but really. Really?

She must’ve made that mental scoff out loud, because Sylvain Gautier turned to look at her. He narrowed his eyes for a moment and then recognition dawned and he gave a brilliant probably fake smile.

“Sunflower! What are the odds?”

Ugh.

“Don’t call me that,” Leonie said. “Are you here for Ashe?”

That seemed to surprise him. “Uh, yeah. Did you see him? He was coming through here for—”

Leonie cut him off with a wave. “Yeah I know, he met up with us, my mercenary crew was hired for the same reason by Platt. We were working together, but he and Caspar disappeared during a watch.”

The smile dropped replaced completely by shock which seemed a lot more genuine. “Caspar’s alive?” Sylvain asked and then frowned. “He’s not…”

“No, he’s not an agent of the fallen Empire who was nefariously sneaking Ashe into a trap,” Leonie said, making Sylvain raise his eyebrows. He always underestimated her. “You’ve _met_ Caspar.”

“Fair enough,” Sylvain said. He shrugged his shoulders and stretched his arms, resting them behind his head in a familiar gesture from better days or at least less complicated ones. “I also fought him a few times.”

“He’s in my crew,” Leonie said, hearing the possessive snap to her voice and not caring. Those were _her_ men (and Josie). “He’s good. He and Ashe were getting along pretty well. I know he didn’t have anything to do with it and I doubt Ashe did either. They obviously found whatever we haven’t been able to find.”

Or they fell into a pit trap somewhere in the midst of that endless forest and were starving to death. Maybe she’d check the western area again tonight. Not like she was going to get any sleep with this headache.

“So… what were you looking for? The report said disappearing monsters and the Death Knight,” he said the name with a certain kind of reverence. Leonie had never fought the guy, she’d gotten close once when she’d helped out Jeralt’s kid and the Lions for the month, but he hadn’t gotten close to anyone but Byleth.

Claude had kept them out of the mix for the most part until Edelgard and the Empire finally got greedy enough to really push the Alliance territory, but she’d never been up against him. Didn’t seem like much of a loss judging by the way Ashe and Sylvain reacted to the mere mention of the weirdo.

“Your mage friend said there was some minor dark magic energy, but not enough to be substantial. We didn’t see any monsters, but got enough reports of that Death Knight guy’s description that someone is definitely dressing up like him.” Leonie didn’t buy the ghost shit. There were too many times that would’ve come up already if it were possible.

Leonie only believed in being haunted by your own issues was possible. The dead were dead.

Even if that sucked.

“Anyway, that you get for free,” Leonie said, realizing how to play this.

Sylvain’s eyebrows went up. “Free?”

“Yeah, I was fine working with Ashe, since he was helping with our mission, but if you want us to help you look for them, you need to hire us.”

Leonie didn’t lie much, there was no point to it, but sometimes bending the truth a little helped the cause. Claude had been a bad influence.

Sylvain frowned at her, the easy cheer sliding off his face easily. “Fine. What’s your price?”

Leonie tried to calculate what a noble like Sylvain, in the service of the King, pretty much at the King’s seat, would be able to pay… but she also knew nobles were idiots and he probably didn’t have that much coin on him.

“We can discuss it later, for now, you can pay for another couple of rooms at the inn and buy me a drink.”

“As much as it’s a joy to see you, Su—Leonie, I’m not really in the mood to waste time getting drinks.”

“Did you ride straight from Fhirdiad?” Leonie asked him, flatly.

Sylvain stared at her and shifted his posture slightly. “Yes.”

“So you’re probably too exhausted to do anything right now. Which means you’ll need dinner and a place to sleep. We’ll start fresh in the morning.” Actually, Sylvain tended to be pretty charming… at least with girls that weren’t her, that might play to their advantage to get more information.

“We’ve hit the last three villages since Platt, we’re headed to Tributary next. It’s not close to where we last saw Caspar and Ashe, but they had some weird shit go down apparently, so it’s better than nothing.”

Sylvain was still staring at her. He rubbed his gloved hand over his face and then raked it through his thick hair. “Alright I guess that makes sense.”

“Good,” Leonie said and then walked past him to grab the grooming kit she was going for in the first place and strode back to Jack.

Sylvain’s footsteps crunched in the hay loudly behind her as he followed. “New horse?”

“Not really,” Leonie said. “But since the war, yeah.” She was still pissed she’d never had a chance to repay Hubert for taking out Alice. She turned her irritation into brushing the knots out of Jack’s coat. Doing work with her hands always calmed her down.

“He’s handsome,” Sylvain said, sounding a bit like she remembered again. When Leonie didn’t respond, he kept going. “So how’ve you been? I have to say, leading a mercenary crew is pretty badass.”

“It’s work,” Leonie said. She didn’t know why she didn’t agree with him. It was badass and she loved her men (and Josie), but it was also the only thing she could fall into after the war. She’d pushed herself to the limits and she had wanted to follow in Jeralt’s footsteps so badly, but she still didn’t feel like she’d gotten there. Would ever get there. “What are you doing? You the Margrave yet?”

“Thankfully no,” Sylvain said. “I’m the King’s gopher mostly.”

Leonie snorted at the description and moved onto Jack’s flank, he huffed in appreciation. She should’ve done this earlier. “Gives you plenty of free time to chat up women, I bet.”

“I’m married actually,” Sylvain said. “To Felix.” Then he paused. “Didn’t we invite you to the wedding?”

Leonie hadn’t gotten a letter from Felix in years, but she hadn’t gotten a letter from _anyone_ in years. She mostly routed her communications through in-person visits to Raphael, Ignatz, Hilda, and Marianne. Lysithea had been incommunicado for a while now, probably wherever the hell Claude was hiding himself. Leonie bet Hilda had word, but she hadn’t been by to see her in a while.

“I don’t know, where’d you send it?” Leonie asked. “My village or the monastery?”

“Uh…” Sylvain tapped his foot, it made an irritating crunch in the hay like when he’d walked over. “Not sure. But I guess the wrong one.”

Brushing Jack was soothing, but it was also making the side of Leonie’s head itch. She hadn’t refreshed the shave in a few days and it was starting to get stubbly. That wasn’t helping the headache. Goddess help her, she wanted a _drink_.

“Well congratulations,” Leonie said. “How is Felix?”

The noise Sylvain made sounded like when a stud horse got turned away from a mare in heat. Figured.

“Felix is fine,” Sylvain said. “Duke, Right Hand to the King, Shield of Faerghus, etcetera.”

“I meant like… how’s he doing in general, but okay.” She didn’t know why people kept telling her what the ruling class of Fòdlan was doing. It was hard enough asking up on them. There was still residual guilt from going up against Jeralt’s kid during Gronder, even if Byleth had saved her (maybe because of), from not keeping her promise to look out for her.

“Oh, he’s um… I don’t know, Felix? He’s the same as always. Trains too much, overreacts to stupid shit, and pretends he doesn’t actually like people.”

The irritation in Sylvain’s voice slid into a kind of fondness that sounded a little more appropriate for someone who was married. Or at least Leonie assumed. Not like she’d had any expertise in that area.

Fuck, she needed a drink.

“They came through Edmund territory about a month ago, right?” Leonie asked. She’d considered for a minute or two following up, and honestly catching up with Felix was fine, but getting involved in that whole _thing_ with the royal tour and all the wasteful spending wasn’t Leonie’s idea of a good time. Besides she’d been busy with a job that _had_ paid off.

“Yeah,” Sylvain said, he sounded distracted. “Look, I think I’m gonna ask around the village anyway. I get that you already did, not judging your… personal skills, you are a shining star of charm and grace, Sunflower, but I am kind of worried about Ashe.”

“Be my guest,” Leonie said, without any heat. “I’m probably going to scout the area again tonight if you really like being sleep deprived.”

When she glanced up and over her shoulder, Sylvian was grinning at her. There was still something around the edges of it. “I love it. Sounds great.” He patted Jack on the nose, softly and with a little rub of the knuckle on his thumb right in the spot that made Jack whuff a happy noise. “What do you drink?”

Anything she could get. Usually beer. “A bottle.”

Sylvain laughed and nodded. “Coming up.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lysithea, meanwhile, fresh from linhardt's treatments to remove her crests is trying to deal with having purple roots -- cyril says they look cool which is only moderately helpful


	18. Marvels & Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude and company explore the mysterious Temple that seems to be dedicated to Sothis.
> 
> (or, claude would never be so crass as to admit it, but he gets super hornt for mysteries)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apologize in advance for the cliffhangers coming up (also they're close-ish but not all POVs are on the same timeline)

The giant mechanical marvel—wait no that wasn’t the word Claude wanted— _monster_ that was of apparently former Archbishop (and definitely something else) Rhea’s design was, unsurprisingly, not susceptible to faith based magic. This left Linhardt and Teach out on a limb and left Claude, who had close combat experience but no close combat weapon, a little preoccupied in terms of examining the tactical field.

There was no way he hadn’t been in worse scrapes, but it was difficult to remember any with a javelin that seemed to be made of pure light tearing through the stone like paper in the spot where Teach had just barrel rolled away from. Claude didn’t currently have any (effective) short range weapons handy, so they were at a triple disadvantage and judging by the way Ingrid was having difficultly maneuvering her lance in such a tight hallway, it was creeping up into a fourth.

Well, tough as hell for swords, made by Rhea who had the ego the size of the monastery… probably meant the most likely weakness she hadn’t accounted for was—

“Hey Teach,” Claude shouted across to her. “Remember when you almost burned down the Lions’ Classroom?”

“Is this really the time for reminiscing?” Ingrid snapped at him. If it wasn’t so annoying, it’d be impressive that she managed to do that while also swinging her lance and distracting the lumbering mechanical monstrosity (her and Teach seemed to be playing a game of keep away with who it needed to attack, which Claude had to admit wasn’t a bad plan — but it needed an exit route).

“Why are you asking?” Teach shouted, while ducking half a second before the thing hucked another javelin at her.

“Fire melts metal!” Claude shouted, dragging Linhardt out of the way when the behemoth clicked loudly and turned the upper half of its body in a direction the lower half had not previously been making its way towards.

Claude couldn’t really tack ‘knowing fire melts metal’ or ‘have Byleth Eisner chuck a dangerous spell’ as some of his most creative and masterful tactics, but he had to admit it was effective. Sometimes the simplest solution was the best one.

The lack of control Teach had with reason based spells meant he hadn’t seen her use much of them (minus the incident), but the spell that blossomed into a dangerously large column of fire shoved the mechanical monster back more than a few paces and made it, if not easier, _possible,_ to take down.

They were all out of breath and banged up by the time the damn thing had gone whatever version of limp a mechanical … thing could.

Teach was helping Ingrid unwedge her lance from the fulcrum of the thing’s… waist, or whatever it was, while Linhardt healed the insanely painful burning gash on his arm.

Mysteries kept him distracted from pain and Lin distracted from how sick blood made him and how Claude had made very specific promises that he wouldn’t _have_ to be in situations where blood would be a problem. “So, Teach has been a little… quick to conclusions lately. Almost like she knew exactly what was coming.”

He could see the tension in Lin’s shoulders relax slightly as he thought about it, white cool healing light dulling the majority of the pain in Claude’s wound. “Premonition isn’t completely out of the realm of possibilities even if it’s not a commonly attributed crest ability.”

“See, that’s where my head went too, but would premonition really be something worth keeping secret?” She’d told him a lot already, why was _this_ part of the deal under lock and key? Didn’t she know that would make Claude want to know even more?

Linhardt didn’t even pause. “If you know something bad is coming and you do nothing to stop it, I’d say that you would be the perfect person to blame for all of bad things that subsequently occur.”

“Maybe,” Claude said. Something wasn’t sitting right with it, but discussing more of that information required completely ratting on Teach and… he didn’t _want_ to do that. It was a strange feeling that had started to develop over the month of Dance Partner hunting. Claude thought it might have been close to resembling trust, but that wasn’t something he was ever naive enough to latch onto.

He glanced at Linhardt as the worst of the pain in his arm dulled. “That observation seemed a little personally relevant.”

Linhardt shrugged and didn’t look up from Claude’s arm, even though he’d done about as much as magic was going to do in terms of healing it. It’d be sore for the next few days and Claude would need to salve it up later, but should another one of these pleasant metal marvels—monsters show up, he’d at least be able to use his bow.

“Edelgard didn’t exactly know the future, but having some sort of… advanced preparation for her plans might have been an incentive to choose differently.”

“You think you would have?” Claude asked.

Linhardt looked at him directly this time, sleepy blue eyes flat and frank. “Honestly, I can’t know.”

“But it’s easy to be mad at someone who can,” Claude filled in for him, nodding as he got his point. He tucked some of the emerald hair that had come loose from Linhardt’s braid (Claude’s artistry from this morning) behind his ear. “I get you.”

“That you do,” Lin said with a smile.

“You both in one piece?” Teach asked, rolling both her shoulders and giving the corpse… or carapace of the creature a dirty look.

“So far,” Claude said.

“What exactly set it off?” Ingrid asked to Linhardt. Claude wasn’t sure if it was exhaustion from the fight or she was using her small reserve of tact, but it didn’t sound like an accusation.

Linhardt frowned and then yawned and covered it with the back of his hand. “I don’t think I set it off, so much as walked into it. It looked like a statue.”

Ingrid frowned. “We can’t be sure there’s not more in here.”

“You think we should turn back?” Teach asked, and Sothis (literally) bless her, but she sounded aggrieved at the idea.

Sure it was dangerous and probably one of the worst decisions he’d ever made, but they were here so why not continue to poke around and _figure this out_.

“That’s not my decision,” Ingrid said.

Claude didn’t really miss being the leader of the Alliance during moments like these. Teach blew out a frustrated breath of air that moved the short fringe flopped over her forehead. “I think we’re onto something, but I won’t force you all to keep going.”

She glanced at Claude who must’ve been able to convey, are you _kidding_ me through a three second stare, because then she moved onto Linhardt, who had his book open again and needed Claude to nudge him before he looked up and noticed.

“Huh? What were we talking about? I’m trying to decipher the symbols I sketched out before that mechanical nightmare attacked.”

Teach wisely took that as her answer and whatever she was saying to Ingrid, Claude couldn’t hear, but assumed it had a lot to do with Ingrid telling her where to shove it if she was asking her if she wanted to leave. Or Claude could only guess given that would’ve been Leonie or Hilda’s response.

Times like this, he _did_ miss being the leader of the Alliance, but there was no use dwelling, so he leaned over Lin’s shoulder to look at the markings. “What’s the squiggly thing that looks like a crest in the corner?”

Claude was not expecting Linhardt to light up with a beaming smile and then kiss him, but he wasn’t complaining. “It’s two crests! I _knew_ our route was familiar.”

“Feeling a little lost here,” Claude said, but was bolstered by the enthusiasm. Teach and Ingrid had strode over as well, though Ingrid kept (understandably) glancing back at their dead metal friend.

“This is the sketch of the path we’ve taken so far,” Linhardt said, “I thought maybe it was a nautilus or some other golden ratio, but it’s too inconsistent for that and counting the dead-ends, I think it’s the Crest of Seiros.” He gestured to the bottom of his makeshift map (which, genius idea, Claude was both enamored and jealous he hadn’t thought of it). “I couldn’t recognize it at first because it’s also crossing over with this, but it’s like the symbols out front. It’s the Crest of Seiros ascending _into_ the Crest of Flames.”

The door that had shot poison arrows at him and had gotten him way more suspicious of Teach’s quick instincts had the same symbol, although it looked a little different, but that could be the different artist interpretations. He’d been so incredibly excited when he’d seen it that for once his sense of self-preservation had been overwhelmed by his need to solve, and well…

“It means creation,” Claude said. “Seiros was the first prophet or whatever gifted to Fódlan from the Goddess. She was the creation of the Church of Seiros, so the gift of her created a new thing. Or at least that’s as far as I got when I was looking it up in those books I did not steal from the unauthorized book section in Seteth’s office.”

They were technically borrowed from his personal rooms.

“So creation of anything or creation of the Church of Seiros?” Teach asked, frowning in that way that meant, she too had the taste of the mystery and wanted to figure out what the flavor was called.

“Potentially neither,” Linhardt said, and they both turned towards him.

“It could mean that, but it also is the concept of time. Sothis is known as the Beginning in some of the more ancient referenced texts I was able to find. So it’s likely this means the beginning of time. Or the concept of time.”

“Time,” Teach said. “It means. Time.”

She stared up at the ceiling and Claude couldn’t help wonder if she was mentally swearing at the Goddess who wasn’t up there, but was apparently in her. “Okay, that’s… interesting, but I don’t know if it’s leading us towards any answers in regards to our Dance Partners.”

“We won’t know until we find out,” Claude said.

That seemed enough to convince everyone but Ingrid, who didn’t need any more convincing than the fact that Teach had decided they were moving forward. Pain in the ass that Ingrid, but arguably one of the most loyal people he’d met.

“You seem a little tense about time, Teach,” Claude said when they were on the move again (Linhardt and Ingrid were staying close, even if she had to keep reminding him of that when Lin found something interesting to look at).

“I’m tense about all of this, why is this place even here?” Teach asked, she tapped her fingers on her sword hilt. It felt true, but it also felt avoidant.

Claude barely resisted picking at it. “Maybe when it was set up this area was more… populated?”

“Someone left those traps,” Teach countered. “Generally speaking putting up poison arrows and hulking golems leans into the specter of hiding something.”

“You said they reminded you of Rhea’s security system?” Claude asked. “You think she might have set this place up? You think maybe she’s _that_ old?”

“Fuck if I know,” Teach said. “I clearly don’t know _anything_.”

“I feel like the ‘about her’ is missing from the end of that sentence.”

Teach snorted and shook her head with a sigh that deflated some of the tension in her shoulders. “You know what, we haven’t had a single lead on our Dance Partners since we started this, just more and more about _why_ they might exist or why someone might want to destroy the church. This _is_ Hubert’s giant practical joke.”

“You don’t think that,” Claude said, enjoying the sideways glare she shot him, it meant he was right. Claude loved being right. “This is all connected. It’s like Lin figuring out those crests connecting? You have it in front of you, the puzzle with all the pieces, you just need to know the one piece to bring it all together.”

“As much as I would love to understand Hubert and Edelgard’s motivations, we started this to make sure there wasn’t a secret threat to Fódlan working behind the scenes to mess up all the peace we _earned_.”

Claude wondered what it would have felt like to see his dream achieved, to feel like he’d earned anything but failure and disappointing people that he never thought would actually care enough to be disappointed.

“Understanding your enemies’ motivation is a pretty good strategy in terms of defeating them,” Claude said. “Gambled on you and Dimitri coming to back us at Derdriu didn’t I?”

Teach tilted her head in his direction. “We weren’t the enemy.”

“The Empire and the Kingdom were fighting, the Alliance was just caught in the middle,” Claude said. “Everyone was the enemy. It’s why Gronder was so damned effective.”

He admired that move by Edelgard, even if he _hated_ her for it.

“Did you have a Plan B if we didn’t show up?” Teach asked, curiously.

“Yeah,” Claude said. “Retreat. No offense to His Majesty, but I’d prefer to survive a fight than win it.”

“Dimitri doesn’t think like that,” she said defensively.

“All of _Faerghus_ thinks like that.”

There was no response to that, except Teach glancing at Ingrid for a second and then delightfully changing the subject. “So when did you and Linhardt…” She made a vague hand gesture. 

Claude raised an eyebrow at her.

Teach shrugged. “Start dating?” At his eyebrow remaining raised she sighed. “Just wondering if it was before, after, or during the research portion of your expenditure.”

“I like to multitask,” Claude said, which judging by her expression was as annoyingly vague as intended. “I don’t think I’d have had quite the same feelings for Hannerman, however.”

That got Teach to laugh. “Hey, he’s running an entire department now. You could do worse.”

“It’s got to be less tumultuous at the Academy without him and and Manuela arguing.” Claude had noticed the former Golden Deer professor seemed much happier in his new post and Manuela seemed… mostly the same.

“Oh no,” Teach said. “Now it’s just her and Seteth going at each other.” She rolled her eyes. “Annette is _convinced_ they’re having a secret tryst.”

Claude laughed a little too loudly at the mental image of those two and Ingrid and Lin both turned to look at him, with eerily similar irritated expressions. He wasn’t sure if it was that they thought he’d set off another trap by being too loud or was ruining the somber tone of the temple. He held his hands up and mouthed ‘sorry’ at them in what he hoped was conveyed as sarcastically as possible.

Ingrid shook her head and turned back around and Linhardt yawned and moved onto the next thing he wanted to examine. Claude was going to have to look at his notes when they were out of here.

“Hey, question for you, Teach,” Claude said, lowering his voice a little so he wouldn’t get shushed like he was in the Garreg Mach library.

“Mhmm,” Teach said, but didn’t stop him.

“Is Cyril still at the Monastery? I was half expecting him to follow Rhea to the Red Canyon.”

Not that she’d looked particularly annoyed before, but Teach’s face softened a little. “He’s an instructor actually. Handles the wyverns too, but mostly teaches archery, which is good since Shamir left pretty soon after the war ended.”

That wasn’t what Claude was expecting, but made him feel a little better. Cyril had been next to impossible to talk to, Lady Rhea this, and Lady Rhea that, when Claude wanted to know how and why he’d ended up in Fódlan, but the only Almyran the kid seemed to know were the dirty words, which… well hell _Hilda_ knew those.

“That’s great, actually.”

“Yeah, it was a pain in the ass convincing him to go the Academy and stop cleaning everything every hour of the day,” Teach said. “But I think he’s settled well.” She snorted. “Although I might lose him considering how quickly he took off when Lysithea invited him to Ordelia.”

“Really?” Claude let out a low whistle and immediately regretted it when Linhardt and Ingrid looked his way again. He didn’t like this bonding they were doing _at all._ “Lysithea didn’t mention it. Then again, I would’ve absolutely used it to tease her until she exploded like a tea kettle, so maybe she’s learning.”

A small sliver of guilt plagued him at not actually going to see her, Hilda’s words still playing a loop in the back of his head. He’d been happy for her after he’d found out what Linhardt had done to help her, but he hadn’t actually told her that.

Claude sighed.

Teach tilted her head at him, mint eyes examining and blank simultaneously. “Care to share?”

He snorted, softly. “Just ignoring my own advice and losing myself in the past.”

“It’s an easy trap,” Teach said and glanced up at a couple of the markings on the wall, they looked like half gibberish half like pieces of the crest path they were following. “That’s why this place creeps me out, I think. If you had access to any amount of time, the things you could do differently… not just…”

“Just?” Claude asked.

Teach opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, Linhardt called them over. “We should be reaching the apex of the route,” he said. “If it’s following the route, I believe it is…” He gestured to a door at the end of the hall.

“Should we flip a coin to see who tries to open it?” Claude suggested.

Ingrid scoffed and started walking towards it, but Teach put a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s keep an eye out for any more surprises.”

Teach walked forward and the symbols on the sides of the wall seemed to glow with some kind of phosphorescent that matched her hair. She kept walking, however, steady paced, one hand on the Sword of the Creator. Her free hand, once she’d reached the door, reached out to touch it, but moments before her fingers brushed against the stonework, a screeching mechanical noise sounded off as the door started to recede into itself.

Teach had wisely stepped back and gotten into a fighting stance, while Ingrid had moved forward and Claude had his already notched bow, leveled.

Luckily no giant murderous mechanoids or poison arrows appeared. Once the door was completely open, it just seemed to be a small room. As Claude and the rest of them stepped closer, the room opened up into a light that seemed to be coming from several windows on the ceiling, frosted over with faded decorative etchings. There was light coming through them, it cast an unearthly glow onto the floor, making the Crest of Flames. In the center of the crest itself, directly between the two branches of symbolic flames, there was a slot that as Teach had guessed as she hovered her sword over the top of it, seemed to be the perfect fit.

Claude was overcome with the urge to stick the sword into it (it had to be acting as a key; _what_ was it going to open?) and thinking they needed to explore the room more, when Teach’s eyes went more than blank.

He’d seen the far off stare she’d had, but this was… different. It was like her pupils had completely disappeared and only the light green was in her eyes. Then, before any of them could get more than two steps, the Sword of the Creator slipped from her hands and landed directly into the slot in the floor… and Teach, Byleth, let out a small gasping noise, wobbled on her feet and dropped like a sack of rocks to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> linhardt inwardly scoffed, oh but it's fine when _she_ takes a nap in the middle of a mission?


	19. Irregularities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri and Felix discuss some concerns. 
> 
> (or, the palace staff must piss themselves every time felix shows up)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @waffle_fancy on twitter

Dimitri was attempting to decipher what exactly Baron Mateus was asking in regards to affixing a bridge between them and Gideon, considering there were no waterways between the two counties, where there was a knock on his door. He was fairly certain he didn’t have any appointments until after lunch, so he hoped he hadn’t spent the last four hours reading the same document.

“Come in,” he said.

His steward entered, not reassuring Dimitri that he hadn’t somehow lost time, but then Cord said, “Genevieve Bisset is asking for an audience.”

Dimitri tried to speak to Glenn and Valya’s tutors and attendants at least every other week and kept a policy of keeping his door open as possible to the castle staff so he nodded and happily set aside Mateus’s confusing request.

Cord nodded and held the door open so Glenn’s music instructor could enter his office. She glanced around, a small look of confusion her face, quickly covered before she stood in front of Dimitri’s desk and curtseyed.

Cord was still at the door, Dimitri gave him a look and he straightened up, bowed and then closed it behind him with an apologetic smile. It seemed Glenn was not the only one besotted. That thought would’ve made Dimitri laugh, except an instructor of Glenn’s looked nervous, which set off his own nerves.

“Can I help you with something?”

Genevieve nodded and moved hands that had been fidgeting behind her back. “I thought I should explain my history with Lady Molinaro.”

Dimitri raised his eyebrows. “You have a history with Mercedes?”

“She hasn’t talked to you yet,” Genevieve said, as if it was an answer to his question and then bit her lip. “I… used to work at House Bartels.”

“I suspect there’s more to it, if you’ve come to speak to me about it,” Dimitri said, after her pause extended into a silence that made it seem like she was having trouble continuing.

Genevieve nodded. “You’ve… I mean, I don’t know if she mentioned, but I know there were a lot of rumors about… what happened to Baron Bartels and the household.”

Her look was a little pleading for him to understand, as if she didn’t want to have to explain it out loud, and Dimitri felt immensely stupid for how long it took him to connect the dots. He always had trouble, even now, connecting Mercedes to anything so violent, even in an ancillary way. “You were there then.”

Genevieve nodded in some relief and then after a moment said, “I changed my name afterwards. It was Genna Marten,” she said, her hands making their nervous fluttering return to the front of her. “I didn’t lie about my credentials, and I’ve been Genevieve Bisset for … well a long while now. I wasn’t intentionally… misconstruing myself,” she said. At Dimitri’s again raised eyebrows as he took this in, she clasped her hands together. “I understand if this is… if you need to me to leave, because of this.” Her chin raised slightly. “But, please don’t give up on music lessons for G-for His Highness, he really has an ear for it.”

Impossible not to catch the slip of her almost calling Glenn by his name, which meant she did in private. Dimitri knew how rare and important that was, when surrounded by even close friends who felt too uncomfortable to do the same.

Dimitri fell silent, frowning. If he hadn’t recently been made aware of the existence of a secret society, who’s favorite move was to replace or place people in important positions, and Felix hadn’t been quite so suspicious, it would have been easy to tell her not to worry about it.

“Was there a particular reason you chose a new name?” he asked.

Her eyes were difficult to read, but after a moment she began to take a steadying breath and opened her mouth to speak when the door to his office slammed open, so hard it shook on its hinges.Dimitri being able to sleep the last few nights thanks to Mercedes’s herbal remedy did not have much of a reaction to Felix’s entrance beyond waving off a panicked steward who looked helpless in the face of Duke Fraldarius’s anger.

Genevieve, however, had startled like a colt and knocked an entire morning’s worth of work off his desk.

“Did Mercedes tell you who she is?” Felix asked Dimitri, while his glare remained pinned onto Genevieve who was attempting to pick up the papers she’d knocked aside.

“She hadn’t had a chance yet,” Dimitri said, ignoring the urge to throw something at his oldest friend. “Miss Bisset was just telling me of their shared history.”

“Right,” Felix said, seething.

The first stack of papers landed on his desk, half still scattered on the floor, as Genevieve stood up and somewhat impressively seemed to ignore Felix’s radiating threatening energy that even on a good day scared half the staff.

“I thought it would be better if I said something first,” she said.

“Seems perfectly reasonable,” Felix said, in a way that sounded like it absolutely did not.

Genevieve frowned at him. “I don’t have to justify myself to you. I’m not working for _you_.” She seemed to catch herself afterwards and then reached down to pick up the rest of the papers.

Felix watched her. “So you’re justifying yourself to the King then.”

“No,” she said, collecting the papers. “I was explaining myself. There’s nothing to justify, it either is a problem or it—” Her words cut off into silence and Dimitri leaned forward a bit, to see her holding the picture of his stepmother that he’d forgotten had also still been on his desk. It had to have been buried under the papers.

Felix stepped towards her, likely also to get a look at what she was doing and that seemed to snap her out of it and she put the papers she’d picked up and the picture of Dimitri’s stepmother on his desk with shaky hands. “I… I apologize, the… frame broke,” she said and then swallowed and without meeting either of their eyes, asked for dismissal, “I don’t have anything else to add, Your Majesty.”

Dimitri was still frowning and still grateful for a full night’s sleep. He dismissed her. “You can go. I will need to think on what you’ve said.”

She nodded and curtseyed, it had a slight imperial style to it, and noticing that now and not earlier made Dimitri feel foolish all over again.

He waited until she left and Cord had closed the door before looking up at Felix. “What exactly did Mercedes tell you that made you think you had to conduct a siege on my office?”

Felix ignored him, looking over the papers and the picture of his stepmother with a sharp eye. The frame was broken, but it hardly mattered.

“Tsk. She lived in the imperial house where the Death Knight came from,” Felix said, flipping the picture frame over as if there were a secret compartment buried in the frame that Dimitri was certain Dedue had picked out himself.

“You do recall the Death Knight killed everyone in that house?”

Felix gave him a scathing look. “Yeah, but apparently not _everyone._ Some coincidence.”

“The timing is odd,” Dimitri said. “But not necessarily so… nefarious as you’re making it out to be.”

Felix dropped the picture frame onto his desk with little care and rounded on him. “Are you seriously still arguing with me about this? Even after you find out she’s not who she said she is.”

“Mercedes and Gustave both changed their names,” Dimitri said. “It’s not without suspicion, but it doesn’t confirm she’s an operative. I would assume their operatives wouldn’t be so startled by your temper tantrums, or else they wouldn’t be as large of a threat.”

Felix was angrier than Dimitri had expected at that comment, although part of him didn’t care, Felix was overreacting and violently pressing his way into a private audience wasn’t exactly part of the duties of a Shield or an advisor.

“You’re _believing_ everything she told you?” He had his hands clenched into tight fists and the ill-contained fury radiating off him reminded Dimitri of their Academy days, which was not a good memory for either of them. “Am I the only person in this entire fucking castle that isn’t blinded by her… charms or whatever to ignore that this doesn’t smell right?”

“ _Honestly_ , Felix,” Dimitri said, starting to feel his own irritation, pressed down through the frustration of the last month without Byleth and under the weight of all that they’d been looking into, rise in him. “I’m not charmed, but I don’t prefer to jump to conclusions without all the facts in front of me, especially if it means screaming at staff in front of the King.”

“I wasn’t screaming,” Felix countered, “you saw the way she scrambled out of here _and_ she knocked all the papers off your desk. Do you have anything important? She could’ve slipped something from it easily when she was trying to pick them up if I wasn’t watching her.”

Dimitri was overcome by the feeling he was trying to argue with Glenn, when his son was in one of his stubborn moods (that he had absolutely inherited from his mother), so much so that, “It’s like talking to Glenn,” came out of his mouth in an exasperated breath.

“I’m _not_ Glenn,” Felix said with such a violent snap to it, that Dimitri immediately realized the confusion.

“Felix, that’s not—”

Felix didn’t let him correct himself and pressed forward, as if this were a practice bout and he was engaging in another attack. “I am not taking his place, because I stayed here so don’t think I’m a fucking replacement.”

“I was talking about my son, not your brother,” Dimitri said, although he could tell even with that statement some of the damage hadn’t been undone as Felix looked away from him, with a stiff jaw. “Is that what you think I think?”

Felix crossed his arms over his chest. “You said I was turning into him more than once.”

“Yes, because you’re both acerbic and sarcastic,” Dimitri said, putting them both in the present tense out of a habit he did not have the ability to shake off, since more than once he’d heard his friend and former knight’s voice whispering in his ear, even after all this time. “I don’t think you’re the same person.”

The tightness in Felix’s jaw only seemed to increase and Dimitri couldn’t fathom what he’d said wrong this time. Then Felix said, “Glenn was funny and sarcastic. I’m just _angry_. All the time.”

Dimitri stood up and walked around his desk to where Felix was standing. “If I ask you if something is wrong are you going to throw something at me?”

Absolutely not a question he would have asked Felix’s older brother.

Felix shifted his jaw and made no move to answer.

Dimitri didn’t try to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, given how tightly wound he was, but he did walk around Felix so he could face him and stepped back a bit, to give him space. “I know you had a … fight before Sylvain left.”

Felix let out an annoyed breath, the tightness in his jaw relaxing a hair. “Mercedes is such a gossip.” His eyes flicked once to Dimitri and then away again, in the other direction. “He thinks I’m jealous so he won’t listen to anything I’m saying, like how you think I’m overreacting so you’re ignoring that I was right.”

“Jealous of…” Dimitri started and then trailed off as he understood. Sylvain hadn’t been particularly any more friendly with Genevieve than the other staff that he’d noticed, but his way of being friendly was very… Sylvain. “Are you?”

Felix’s glare pinned him again. “Don’t even start with me.”

“I’m trying to figure out why you’re so upset, Felix,” Dimitri said. “I’m not discounting your suspicions, if you didn’t have them I wouldn’t even think about dismissing Glenn’s instructor over this.”

That relaxed Felix enough that the tension in his shoulders stopped matching the tension in his jaw and he uncrossed and then crossed his arms again in a much less violently tight direction. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, too bad,” Dimitri said. “Because you’ve been unbearable since Halmid and so I’m ordering you to talk about it.”

Felix gave him a withering look. “I’m not going to talk to you, because the King orders me to.”

“Your friend then,” Dimitri said. “You can’t give me grief for taking on too much stress and not sleeping if you piss yourself off into a heart attack, Felix.”

That finally caused Felix to deflate. “It’s…” He looked at Dimitri again, less sharply, but still with some sting.“You can’t use this against me when I tell you something doesn’t seem right.”

“I wouldn’t,” Dimitri said, honestly. He felt so… relieved that Felix was actually going to talk to him that he probably would’ve agreed to more. It used to be so easy between them, but even after six years since the war it still felt like a struggle to see the open and sensitive boys they both once were.

Felix scoffed, but it was half a laugh, as he looked above Dimitri’s head to one of the bookshelves. “Sylvain’s father actually told him to get a mistress so he could have grandchildren.”

Dimitri frowned. “I assume he implied it, rather that outright saying it, but I’m unfortunately not surprised.”

“No, he’s gone the direct route lately,” Felix said. “We’ve been married for years and he’s still…” He clenched his jaw again.

This couldn’t be all it was, because everyone knew Margrave Gautier was… well for lack of a better term, an asshole.“You don’t think Sylvain is considering it?”

“Of course not,” Felix said. “Even if I wasn’t in the picture, he wouldn’t do it out of spite for his old man, but…”

“But?” Dimitri prompted, when Felix trailed off.

Felix didn’t appear to be staring at anything in particular, but his gaze was far away. “What if I wasn’t in the picture.”

“Is that…” Dimitri tried to balance his words, as even if this wasn’t Felix, it was a sensitive topic. “Something you’re considering?”

“No,” Felix said. “But I don’t like being the reason he’s settling.”

“Settling?” Dimitri asked.

Felix shrugged one shoulder and then looked to his right, angrily. “He could married to someone who isn’t a constant pit of rage and has the fucking capacity to even like kids, let alone not hate them.” He dropped his arms from his chest and rested them on his hips and briefly glanced Dimitri’s way again. “I barely tolerate yours.”

Dimitri could not help the scoff, ignoring Felix’s questioning glare. “You don’t hate my children. You have been a one-man vendetta over the mere idea that someone might even come close to hurting Glenn — you edged Gustave out of his lance training, because you claimed he wasn’t doing a good enough job!”

“He wasn’t,” was Felix’s stilted reply. “And you know it’s not the same thing, you’ve seen Sylvain with him and Val. You’ve seen Sylvain with Ingrid’s kids. Or the castle children. Or a fucking child in a restaurant who makes eye contact with him.”

A bit of an exaggeration, but Dimitri didn’t mention that. “You do know you have to talk _to_ Sylvain about this?”

Felix shifted in his stance, something he used to do younger when he was nervous. “You know what he’s like, he’ll be reassuring, and lie to both of us about it and say it’s fine. I don’t have the ability to have that kind of affection with children, I barely manage it with my husband, half the time.”

“Yes, but I believe Sylvain knows that and is the one person who actually likes that about you,” Dimitri said.

Felix’s withering glare was much less stinging than before. “Hilarious.”

“Thank you,” Dimitri said and then before Felix could do more than lower his eyebrows in annoyance, said, “You know it’s not a unique feeling to be concerned as to whether or not your spouse can put up with your… emotional irregularities.”

Felix turned completely so that he was facing him. “That’s not the same thing.”

His voice was full of concern and the actual implication that Felix thought his issues were worse.

Dimitri gave a tired laugh. “No it’s not. I’ve done _far_ worse than you.”

“Dimitri,” Felix said, in an exasperated voice. “Don’t do that.”

“Fine,” Dimitri said, sidestepping the easily brought forth list of sins he’d committed and taking a different approach. “I’m still not the easiest person to deal with.” That got the fraction of a smile from Felix, which encouraged Dimitri to continue. “I have headaches, I have moods, I still… have episodes on occasion. And yet, still Byleth, and you all manage to put up with me.”

“I’m not putting up with you,” Felix said, testily, even though he likely would have said the opposite in a normal day.

“And neither am I, neither is Sylvain,” Dimitri said. “We all have our wounds from … we all reacted different ways, Felix. We’re all still… somewhat broken from it.”

Felix looked at the floor. “That’s it isn’t it? Sylvain’s the only one who’s not.”

Dimitri risked the arm injury and put a hand on Felix’s shoulder briefly. “Maybe, but I still think it isn’t as bad of an outlook as your predicting. You may be right more often than not, but that doesn’t mean the worst predictions always come true.”

Whatever Felix’s response to that was going to be, it was cut short by the door opening again. It was a harried opening, but far less violent than Felix’s. They were both surprised to see an out of breath Annette at the door, apparently his steward and guards had given up on the idea of knocking to announce someone.

“What’s wrong?” Felix immediately asked, leaving Dimitri’s side and striding towards Annette.

Dimitri followed him, while Annette held up one finger asking them to wait while she tried to catch her breath.

Finally, she said, “Seteth is missing. And I know he’s an adult who can go off and do whatever he wants, but he’s Seteth and he never does that.”

“How long?” Dimitri asked.

Annette looked somewhat relieved, as if she was expecting resistance in some regard. “Three days. And Byleth owes me fifty gold because he and Manuela _are_ a thing and she doesn’t know where he is either.

“He and Manuela are what?” Dimitri couldn’t help saying.

Annette let out an annoyed little huff and hopped on her feet. “They’re dating, trysting, whatever! The point is, that he’s gone and that makes it even weirder that Flayn is still gone. She was really good about writing me but then four months ago she stopped. I thought…” She bit her lip. “I thought maybe she got tired of me and was busy, but now that Seteth is missing too?”

Annette gesticulated wildly and Felix and Dimitri somehow avoided getting hit by her flailing limbs, it had to be practice.

“Byleth isn’t there,” Annette said, “so I don’t know what to do or who to talk to about this, but Alois wasn’t it.”

“Obviously,” Felix muttered.

Dimitri really didn’t understand why everyone was so bothered by him, but that wasn’t the point at hand. “Well, you are here now, so we’ll figure it out.”

Felix shot him a look. “I’ll figure it out, you’ve got work to do and staffing decisions to make.”

Dimitri frowned at him, somewhat annoyed and relieved to have a bit of normal Felix back.

“Come on,” Felix said to Annette, “we’ll go get you some water and you can walk me through it.”

Annette looked at both of them with teary eyed gratitude and then nodded. She and Felix left Dimitri alone in his office, closing the door behind them, and making Dimitri feel as if all the important things were happening behind it, but unfortunately, he still had to figure out how to respond to a request for a waterless bridge.

  
He did not miss the war, but… sometimes almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mercedes drinks tea with dedue and wonders if she should have spoken to felix after dimitri and dedue tells her it wouldn't have mattered, but refuses to elaborate


	20. Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth discovers exactly what she unlocked in the Temple. 
> 
> (or time is fleeing, madness takes its toll, but listen closely...)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slowly directs everyone to the 'canon typical violence' tag before reading this chapter*

_Oh. What trouble have you gotten yourself into this time?_

Byleth’s head was killing her. She wasn’t sure what time of day it was, or when she’d gotten to… wherever she was, but opening her eyes against the light hurt. She made a grunting noise and then did it anyway.

“Morning, Teach,” Claude said, his voice felt out of focus and far away. She had to squint to see him, he looked… nervous, though she had never seen that expression on his face before. “Gave us all quite a scare back there.”

“What happened?” Byleth asked, rubbing her hands over her eyes to try and eliminate the blaring feeling of waking up from… what had knocked her out?

“You don’t remember?” Claude asked. The nervous look on his face didn’t disappear. Byleth decided she hated it.

“No.” She tried to lift herself up to sitting with some success. “Last thing I remember was…” She felt the unrelenting urge to sink back down again as she remembered the fight, the Death Knight coming at her most impulsive student and her reaction being not as rational as it should’ve been. “Is Lorenz okay?”

Claude laughed. “He’s pacing outside and harassing Manuela. There have been talks of naming a bridge after you. I’d watch out for allergies, considering how many flowers I’m assuming he’s ordered.”

“Ugh.” Byleth was sitting so she felt like shifting off the medical cot she was on… this was definitely the infirmary. Her left shoulder to her chest ached with the poisonous slice the Death Knight’s scythe had gotten on her and caused her to stall the plan to get up. “Everyone’s okay, though?”

“Yeah.” Claude was generally fairly effusive, but there was something vulnerable in his face, open.

“You were worried,” Byleth said and she couldn’t help smiling.

“We were _all_ worried, Teach,” Claude said. He was frowning at her. “That wasn’t exactly the best strategy.”

“Everyone’s fine, you said.”

Claude gestured to her. “Mostly, we did almost lose our fearless leader to a murderous dramatically dressed enemy back there.”

“I’m…” She couldn’t say she was fine. There was still something chugging through her system that she could feel, the insidious nature of the poison fighting against whatever Manuela had probably done to counteract it. “I’m not saying sorry if everyone’s okay.”

He stared at her and then he laughed again and shook his head. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” Byleth said, smiling at him.

Claude lifted himself up from the crouch she realized he’d been in, to meet her eye level on the bed and walked the small distance to the window, looking out at the sunlight that still felt too bright to get near. It made the outline of his back blurry and shadowed in her still tempered vision. “I kept thinking, how would we even do this without her?”

“You would figure it out,” Byleth said. Not the most reassuring statement, she was sure, but it was true.

“That’s not what I mean,” Claude said, and he turned towards her. She could barely make out his expression and he had to have been doing it on purpose. “I _never_ rely on people like that, Teach, but we all rely on you. I don’t even… if you hadn’t come back…”

“Don’t think about what-ifs, Claude,” Byleth said. “Think about forward. Even if something happens to me, I want to know that you made it happen. Everything we talked about. The dream of open borders and equal footing, to break down this… broken prejudiced world and build it back up again. You said it yourself, it’s too much for one person.”

“Byleth,” he said, way too serious, and one of the few times he’d called her by her name. “It’s too much for me. I didn’t say it was too much for you.”

She wished she could make out his face. “I mean I’m the one that jumps in front of the Death Knight and gets stabbed, so maybe you’re overestimating my abilities.”

He didn’t laugh.

Byleth sighed and ran her hands through her hair. It was, in simple terms, a mess. “How long was I out?”

“Two days,” Claude said, he’d turned back towards the window. “It got you pretty much over where your heart should be. Manuela had a tough time figuring that one out, by the way.”

“Mhm, well if she does, she should let me know,” Byleth said, tapping her fingers against her chest and then regretting it as she winced from the impact of where the scythe had sliced through.

Claude had turned back from the window and strode towards her, face open and full of concern. She really couldn’t remember a time where he was so…

Byleth’s smile turned into a grin. “You _were_ worried.”

Claude sighed and shook his head. “Teach, with you, I’m _always_ worried.”

_No. No. No. You’re making a mess of it. Your tiny human brain can’t handle this._

“Professor?” Hubert’s voice drew Byleth up from where she had been looking down at her tea. He really knew how to hover with a sense of malice. Ridiculously and absurdly tall standing when she was sitting down too.

“Yes?” Byleth asked. “Can I help you with something?”

Hubert nodded. “I wanted to say you did an excellent job today. You performed remarkably well and assisted Her Majesty in… more ways than I was expecting from you.”

Byleth blinked at him, in utter confusion. “Uh. Thanks.”

He nodded and then stalked away.

Byleth turned back towards her tea partner, who looked just as baffled as she felt. “You saw that right?” she asked Ferdinand. “Hubert was _nice_ to me.”

“I…” Ferdinand stared at his own tea cup. “I think maybe we’ve been slipped something, as I did too, notice that.”

“Maybe someone slipped him something,” Byleth said. She took a sip of her tea, it was a really good blend, Ferdinand had excellent taste, and it was a nice enough day in the gazebo that she thought maybe she was sleeping and that had been a fever dream of a good nap.

“I don’t think Hubert is susceptible to poison,” Ferdinand said, very seriously. “It would take one look at his blood and then jump straight out of his body.”

“ _Ferdinand_ ,” Byleth scolded, but she laughed afterwards. “That’s not very noble of you.”

Ferdinand frowned at her, chastened slightly and sipped his tea. “We all have our moments.”

And another annoyingly tall standing person loomed over Byleth. What was going on today? She squinted up at the opposite shade of menacing. “Jeritza, I’m not fighting with you right now.”

Her back still hurt from the last time.

“Boring,” Jeritza said, but then added. “Here,” and put something in front of her. “Mercedes… says that you enjoy these things.” Then he walked in the other direction immediately afterward.

The thing in front of her was a tin of her favorite ginger tea. She blinked and then stared after Jeritza and then stared at her cup again. “There’s definitely something in this.”

“Or,” Ferdinand suggested, “you can charm even the foulest beasts… not that I am implying either of them are beastial. I… oh that metaphor got away from me didn’t it?”

_Listen to me. You must stop this. It will not go well for you. Stop drifting through—stop—_

“There you are,” Byleth said, striding forward across the courtyard located in Rhea’s ridiculously large top floor suite. Edelgard didn’t turn from her position at the parapet wall. Byleth could tell there was some tension in her shoulders the closer she got. She approached a little more slowly and eased next to her. “Everything all right?”

Edelgard’s violet eyes were glassy as she stared out. “I’m… sorry that you’re seeing me like this. Arianrhod affected me more than I realized.”

Byleth turned and leaned back against the wall so she was facing Edelgard, who still wouldn’t look directly at her. “For it not to affect you at all would be worse, wouldn’t it?”

To not feel things was… it wasn’t better. It was a shell of a person. It was what Byleth had been for such a long time without realizing, drifting between feeling and understanding. Having that burnt out of her by the weight of a goddess’s shadow wasn’t something she wanted to see Edelgard move towards.

“I cannot lose my focus,” Edelgard said, chastising herself. “To hesitate from my path even for a moment could mean all of this sacrifice was for nothing. To… I can’t…”

“El,” Byleth said again and took her hand. “You’re not walking this path alone.”

Edelgard finally looked at her. She’d stayed the tears, but her eyes were full of them, unfallen. Byleth wished there was something she could say or do to help her feel comfortable enough to release them, but the only thing she could offer was her support to break the confines of the hold the Church had on this world. Of what Rhea had done to her and to all of them.

“Thank you, my teacher,” Edelgard said. “I… sometimes don’t know what I would do without you.”

Byleth smiled at her and squeezed her hand. “Then it’s a good thing you don’t have to worry about that, isn’t it?”

_This will only get worse if you do not stop._

Byleth watched from across the battlefield as Ingrid strode forward, she hadn’t sent her in that direction for obvious reasons, but there she was, bravely facing off against a childhood friend. She was too far away for Byleth to get to her. There was no time to help her not have to clash, not have to kill, no time at all to help save her from the anguish that Byleth had sent her to. Lùin made a finally blow and Annette, the cheerful girl from what wasn’t five years to Byleth, fell.

_I am begging you to listen to me. You have to resist this pull. Even with my power within you, it’s too much._

“Felix,” Byleth tried, but he was pushing past her, his sword scraped the ground, dragging the blood with it.

“Leave it,” he said, strangled and raw. “We won.”

She wanted to say she was sorry. She wanted to say she’d heard him talking to Sylvain, as they fought, about their promises to each other, but she let him walk away instead, knowing he’d come back. He’d fight at their side until it was over. When it was over, she’d have to deal with that then. It was war… they all had sacrifices to make.

_For crying out… would you listen to me?!!_

The Tempest King, they’d called him. It seemed an unfitting title for someone crawling through the mud, covered in wounds, defeated, but still moving forward, crowing about Edelgard’s head.

Byleth stared at the back of him, unrecognizable from the student she’d known, and held the Sword of the Creator up to put him out of his misery.

_Talking to you isn’t like talking to a child, it’s like speaking to a wall made of brick!_

Byleth was dying. It was a funny feeling to know this was true, but she’d lost too much blood and had drained all her energy of divine pulses, and her… students, her family were dying around her. Her murderer had once been … maybe a friend, but there was nothing but a cool resoluteness in their eyes as they lifted their weapon.

Nothing would come to light, none of that brighter tomorrow would happen, she wouldn’t be able to save…

_I am begging. You see me beg? Me, a goddess, begging you to stop this foolish nonsense!_

Edelgard’s voice was choked in with pain. She looked up at Byleth, already fallen, already too late and too blind to see it. She reached her hand out, sobbing, “I wanted... to walk with you.”

Byleth brought her sword down. The resolute feeling of righting this wrong, putting the Church and her real family back where it belonged, was… empty and nothing. That was what she was comfortable with and had always been. She turned from her former friend’s body and walked away.

_Must I do everything myself then?_

Death filled Byleth’s eyes from every angle. Death by her hand. Death she directed. Death. Death. Death. Over and over again, twisting through every angle, every scenario, every possibility. She saw her friends die over and over and over again. Sometimes they killed each other. Sometime she killed them. On rare occasions they killed her.

Ingrid crawling away, bleeding, as Mercedes brokenly cast another spell.

Annette sobbing as she looked at Ashe’s body, covered in the black inky scarring of the magic that had taken his life from her hand.

Felix staring up, even as he died, at the haunted eyes of Sylvain, his lance still embedded in him.

Dedue rushing forward against a mountain of enemies with no hope of survival, no chance to listen to her telling him to pull back, only cries of ‘his majesty’ or ‘his highness’ or ‘Dimitri!’ Every time the same end.

Dimitri dying, not in her arms, but by her blade. Dimitri killing her. Dimitri dying. Dimitri bleeding out. Dimitri enraged and broken and not knowing peace even as the life slipped from his eyes… Dimitri…

_Stop this foolishness and_ **_WAKE UP_ ** _!_

Breath filled Byleth’s lungs so sharply that it was painful. She felt fire blossoming out from her lungs and then clinging to her entire body.

Three pairs of concerned eyes stared at her. She’d seen all of them die more than once. Claude, Ingrid, and Linhardt. Byleth let out a choked noise, not truly a sob, and felt as if her mind folded in on her, as she tried desperately to forget.

_I hate saying I told you so, but, well…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sothis, like felix, loooooves saying i told you so


	21. Luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leonie and Sylvain find a bit more than they were expecting during their investigation.
> 
> (or, this is a leonie pov, so you are all saved from sylvain's inner-dialogue-sulking)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you again to those who comment & kudos and even if you're only reading this and enjoying it as much as i am writing it

Leonie could not believe her luck. Actually, she couldn’t believe _Sylvain’s_ luck. A villager they had talked to, but couldn’t remember anything, suddenly remembered that her cousin one town over had seen something strange and had mentioned it in their last letter. Sylvain had talked to them for five minutes, after being in town for ten minutes, and now it was the next day and Leonie was watching him schmooze the cousin in the next town, while Axel and Josie watched, enraptured at the process.

“I think I heard Axel giggle earlier,” Bert said, unhelpfully. “I don’t think I’ve _ever_ heard him do that.”

Bert and Axel had come up in the same village and practically knew each other while they were still gestating.

Leonie pulled her flask out from Jack’s saddle bag and took a swig, enjoying the bite that kicked her awake and the smoothness that evened her annoyance out for at least a moment.

Sylvain was gesturing in their direction. The cousin was laughing. Leonie sighed and tried to bury her irritation, it was a good thing that they were getting more leads. Leonie had to focus on what the task in front of her was and not… any other annoyance.

Sylvain was grinning and had a hand on Josie’s shoulder, telling her something that made Josie laugh into her hand in a coquettish way that made Leonie think she was seeing things. “Unbelievable,” she muttered to herself, but then louder, directed at Sylvain. “So?”

Sylvain dropped his hand from Josie’s shoulder and stretched both arms over his head. “Seems like there was some kind of scuffle that went down in an old coppice just north of here.Kids were playing around and brought back this…” He gestured to Axel who held up a piece of metal. It wasn’t any metal Leonie had seen, but it didn’t really look fancy enough to be worth much.

“What is that?”

“No idea,” Sylvain said. “Apparently their blacksmith didn’t know either.”

“Sounds like a lead,” Leonie said, nodding and gestured with her chin for the men (and Josie) to round up the horses.

The ride didn’t take more than an hour but it became pretty clear that when they said old coppice, they meant hadn’t been used in years maybe decades, because the overgrowth and tree cover was too dense to push the horses through. Leonie told Axel and Josie to watch them and directed the rest of them toward the treeline, weapons drawn. She had to wait an extra ten minutes, while Sylvain stressed to Josie and Axel how precious his horse was and what the proper care techniques were.

Leonie resisted the urge to shoot an arrow above his head, maybe graze some of that carefully pretend-I-didn’t-ruffle-it-this-way-on-purpose hair of his. She was in a bad mood. It wasn’t all Sylvain. It was running on low sleep and low hope. She didn’t like the feel of any of this.

“You think there’s any magic energy around here?” Leonie asked Bert, who gave her the world’s biggest what the hell look.

“I mean other than Lord Gautier?” he asked.

“Don’t you start,” Leonie warned him.

Bert shook his head and shrugged. “I don’t know. I know enough magic to get by, none to sense if there’s any weird dark mystery that causes ghost monsters.”

“I think we’ve established there’s no ghost monsters,” Leonie said.

“Have we?” Bert asked.

Leonie didn’t have an answer to that. “Well if there is, then we’ll figure out how to fight ghost monster things.” She’d do her best, that’s all she could do. That’s what Jeralt had taught her. Use her strengths and her biggest one was not giving up. She had to remember that.

“Shall we?” Sylvain said, gesturing forward, like he hadn’t made them wait.

“Tracks,” Theo said, after a few minutes of walking through the brush.

Leonie looked where he was pointing and there were absolutely hoof prints and maybe cart tracks, how they’d managed their way in and out of here was beyond her. She clucked her tongue. “They don’t look fresh but they’re not rained out, so they can’t have been earlier than yesterday.”

Theo nodded in agreement and moved forward, following the path he’d picked up on. She’d met Theo on the road, half the crew hadn’t joined yet. Theo was always quiet, but a hard worker. No one really gave him a shot before. It was their loss, Leonie wished he’d been in Sauin during the Red Wolf Moon to hunt wolves driving off the last of the prey. They never would’ve had a shortage during the winter.

“I’m going to feel like a real ass if there are actual ghosts,” Sylvain said next to her. He wasn’t exactly stealthily walking through the underbrush, but she supposed that couldn’t be helped considering how much space he encompassed.

“Why?” Leonie asked, before she could help herself.

“Ah, I sorta assigned Ashe to this, because he hates ghosts. I didn’t think there’d _actually_ be anything he couldn’t handle.”

“He did seem jumpy,” Leonie said. “I thought he was nervous around Caspar.”

“Why?” Sylvain asked, the suspicious edge around his voice irritating her. “Did Caspar do something to Ashe?”

“ _No_ ,” Leonie said, letting her irritation out in a glare.

Sylvain seemed to note it and held his hands up in an apology. “Right, your guy now. Old habits. Although I don’t remember him being particularly intimidating out of battle. Loud, sure, but Ashe has had worse, unless Caspar’s changed into a war-grizzled merc like yourself.”

Leonie stared at him and decided not to fill in the blanks. “Caspar’s about the same. Loud. Impulsive. Hell of a fighter.” She was glad that she was the one he ran into when he came back to Fódlan. She wouldn’t call her crew a collection of lost souls, that was stretching it, but they were all looking for something and a purpose and Caspar wanted to help people as badly as he wanted a fight and Leonie had no problem finding both.

“Am I the same?” Sylvain asked. 

“I don't know, are you?” Leonie asked back.

He frowned at her and swatted a branch away with his lance. “I’d like to think I’ve grown a bit. Figured that’d show.”

“It’s been like… ten years since we’ve talked,” Leonie reminded him. “I don’t know you well enough to make that call, but if you think you’ve changed then you probably have.”

Sylvain glanced back at her. “Yes, but that doesn’t give me direct placation.”

“When have I ever been the type of person to soothe your ego?” Leonie was unable to keep from snorting.

“You could’ve changed,” Sylvain said, smiling. “Like you said, it’s been ten years.”

“I don’t think I’ve changed that much,” Leonie said, honestly. She was just… older.

“You’re running a mercenary crew, that’s pretty cool,” Sylvain said and it didn’t sound like a fake compliment.

Leonie shrugged the praise off, even if she didn’t hate it. She was pretty proud of this little part of her life she’d carved out. Her men (and Josie) were capable and basically family at this point. Maybe she wasn’t exactly fulfilling the Blade Breaker II title she’d sort of slapped onto herself, but she was close.

“Aren’t you set to be the Margrave?”

Sylvain’s smile dropped off his face and he looked tired. “And here I was being nice to you.”

“What?” Leonie honestly had no idea why that had bothered him. From what she remembered of Lorenz, being the heir to a noble house was like the best thing ever… for nobles.

Sylvain spun his lance in a showy arc, without really paying attention to it. Displayed the skill of how he could use it in a casual way.

“Nothing.” He smirked. “My father will probably be around for a while, so I can achieve my true dream of being Felix’s trophy husband.”

Leonie didn’t mean to laugh, but the image was funny. Her laugh seemed to make Sylvain relax a bit more and his grin was a bit more genuine.

“How about you, Sunflower? Any torrid love affairs since the war?”

She noted Tom’s look when Sylvain called her that and promised to kick his ass if he tried it himself. She sighed and shook her head. “Too busy to think about that stuff.”

“Never too busy to…” A look appeared on his face, like he’d thought of something that made him really happy. It immediately made her worried. “You know I am _excellent_ at setting people up. Our kitchen staff is practically baby booming due to my work at the last Garland Moon.”

“That doesn’t sound like you think it sounds,” Leonie said.

This time Sylvain laughed. “No, no. Managed to avoid that problem. I helped grease the wheels for a few blushing hearts though.”

“Is that what you do at the castle when you’re not gophering?” Leonie asked.

“I get very bored,” Sylvain said. “There’s only so much schmoozing you can do in a day.”

“Even for an expert, like you?” Leonie asked.

Sylvian’s glare was halfhearted and his lips were still quirked up. Whatever stupid thing he was going to say to her was cut off by Theo calling them towards where he’d come forward.

There was a break within the copse of trees that lead to an area that absolutely been cut down, but it didn’t seem like whoever was using it was using it for farming. “That’s blood,” Jules said, stating the obvious so no one else had to. “A lot of it.”

“Fuck,” Sylvain said, picking up what looked like a broken arrow. “This is Ashe’s.”

“This blood…” She’d seen butchering before, the blood didn’t drain the same way. That didn’t mean it was human, but it didn’t look like blood from a battle site either. “Theo are those tracks?”

Theo walked over to where she was gesturing and crouched down, squinting at it. “No, looks like something heavy was situated here.” He walked keeping his eye on the ground, walking to another corner and then squinted up at the sky and then walked around again until he’d made a pretty big square. “I think it was some kind of canopy. Seems like it tracks the bulk of open area.”

“Seems a pretty good place to do whatever you want without anyone finding out,” Tom said, arms crossed over his chest.

It was the last thing Tom ever said. A spell too familiar from the war, the stench of dark magic filling Leonie’s nose before she could even react, hit Tom right in the chest knocking him over and out in a way that Leonie knew too well he wasn’t coming back from.

It had been a while, but she still remembered how to shut all of it off and focus. Her bow was up and shooting in the direction of the spell, while she yelled orders for her men (minus Tom… not a time to think about it) to spread out.

By the time their enemy had appeared, Leonie had enough momentum to barrel roll into cover, and notch more than one arrow in their direction. They weren’t limitless so she held until they showed their face, except one of the faces was not a face at all.

The unearthly eerie black helmet that Leonie had only seen from a distance, topped the Death Knight’s head as he strode forward, sword in hand. Next to him two mages, both with their faces covered, deftly avoided Theo’s short axe, which imbedded itself into a nearby tree.

“Nope,” Sylvain said, shaking his head, looking a bit more than off balance as he took a few steps backwards from the Death Knight. Then his eyes narrowed and he hoisted his relic upwards a bit and took two steps forward to make up for it. “You’re too short to be the Death Knight. Which is reassuring, since that means he’s still dead.”

The helmeted, not the Death Knight, turned towards Sylvain, leaving an opening that Leonie took in an instant, her first arrow flying free immediately, catching him in the showy shoulder pauldrons, and then her second soon after, missing only because mage to the left shattered it with a spell.

“Boss,” Bert said, a few feet from her. “That’s some pretty powerful magic shit.”

“Yeah, thanks for the update,” Leonie said.

The not-Death Knight ran at Sylvain, sword up with a rage fueled roar that sounded tinny and ominous in his helmet. Leonie had seen how good Sylvain was with the lance, in battle, at school, and with his showboating earlier, so she wasn’t worried. She pushed herself off from the tree cover and moved so she could curve the next shot towards mage number one, without giving away its position and then shifted in the other direction and curved it slightly askew. That seemed to work—in so much as the mages weren’t able to see both coming and one arrow landed straight in their shoulder.

Leonie heard, smelled, and felt to the right of her the trademark signs of dark magic and a death knell. She couldn’t let her brain process who it was before notching two arrows at once and pushing off on the back of her boot so she could fully throw her weight behind it and scattershot the direction. It was easier to do on Jack, but she knew how to improvise.

She kept an eye on the field, noting where to move and where to turn to keep her own feet and body away from any errant spells, as she passed where Sylvain and the not-Death Knight had been facing off, she saw Sylvain had gotten his helmet off.

The guy had a pinched face like something smelled bad and hair that hadn’t seen a wash in a while. “You!”

Sylvain looked confused, but also side stepped an easy feint and brought his lance in a brutal arc that the guy caught with his sword. She guessed he wasn’t useless with it, for what he looked like without the helmet at least.

“Have we met?” Sylvain asked.

This really seemed to piss the guy off and he made a stupid error of slicing through the air with his sword in a rage instead of a collected move that might have actually been dangerous. That move also put him in Leonie’s range. The guy had a scar on his neck that felt like a target calling directly to Leonie’s arrow. She shot him right in the same spot and his eyes widened as he stumbled backwards, soundlessly choking, sword dropping and then body soon after.

“Oh, _that_ guy,” Sylvain said, with an uneasy chuckle. He glanced back at Leonie. “Thanks, but I had that.”

His smile was easy, his attention was distracted, and Leonie did not have enough time to renotch another arrow before a burst of dark magic blew Sylvain sideways and into a tree, where he fell with a thick thump.

 _Shit,_ that was Hubert level magic. Leonie’s traitorous hands shook, forgetting everything she’d learned about battlefield calm as she tracked not only Tom, but Theo too, down and out. Bert was nowhere to be seen and Jules was—

Leonie watched as the magic tore him apart, the familiar smell of it, rotten eggs, ink, petrichor, and nightmares choking her. She kept her hand steady, ignoring the burn in her nostrils, and the pinch in her finger tips from her bowstring and launched two arrows at the mage who’d taken Sylvain down, nailing her in the shoulder, but missing anywhere useful.

Running was an option, Leonie knew that, but running meant running in the direction of Josie, Axel and the horses, and she didn’t want anyone else …

Leonie pulled her hand back to grab another arrow and caught nothing but air. She threw her bow aside and drew a knife running towards the mage and throwing it at her when a wave of magic that felt electric in the air threw her sideways like it had Sylvain. She grunted on impact with the ground as the air left her lungs.

“Don’t,” one of the Mages said, her voice was thick and luxurious, like one of those night shows Hilda used to drag them to when she was in a mood to mess with Lorenz. “She needs more subjects now that the plan’s advanced. Might as well soften the news of her pet project ending.”

Leonie stared up at the mage, her head spinning, and the only thing in her arsenal, her gut, and her grit, and as she leaned towards the mage and kicked hard nailing their shin with her boot, until there was a snapping noise.

It was just her luck that there were still two of them and the world blossomed into pain and a blank space as she lost consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> later, they drag metodey's body to cleo who when asked what she can do for him, shrugs and says, "grab a shovel?" 
> 
> (sylvain as felix's trophy husband was seen by me on twitter by @alykapedia and i have been giggling about it ever since -- i'm @waffle_fancy there if you're into that kind of thing)


	22. Intimidating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annette explains to Felix what her concerns about Seteth and Flayn are and there is an interruption. 
> 
> (or, dun dun dun)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please check out some REALLY amazing art I commissioned, inspired by this monster fic. It'll soothe the trauma of this chapter with its cuteness. 
> 
> A [Linhardt, Claude, Byleth, Ingrid braid train](https://twitter.com/waffle_fancy/status/1255527302873612288?s=20) by @puppysicle on twitter. 
> 
> And [Leonie and Caspar best bros](https://twitter.com/waffle_fancy/status/1255577878780993536?s=20) and [Annette & Flayn being their cute selves](https://twitter.com/waffle_fancy/status/1256253068733120512?s=20) by @destroymuse on twitter.

Annette took another sip of water. It was frustrating repeating things, but mostly it was hell on her throat. She was happy that Felix was listening, without Byleth around, it was hard to get anyone to take her seriously. Even Manuela was convinced that Seteth had left her—like all men leave her. She had been fairly drunk, so she wasn’t _really_ a help — minus the fact that when this was over and hopefully everything was fine if not good—Byleth would owe Annette fifty gold.

“Why do you think this is connected to Flayn?” Felix asked and thankfully didn't sound like he was placating her but that he _actually_ wanted to know. Annette was a grown woman, thank you, she knew when something was strange and off with the people she’d known for over a decade.

“Flayn left Garreg Mach a year ago. She said it was a fishing expedition,” Annette said, “which, well, obviously it wasn’t.”

“That sounds like something she’d do,” Felix said, he had his eyebrows pressing together in a way that he did sometimes when he was trying to learn a new sword move. It was kind of cute, but she would never tell him that, because he might stop doing it.

“You don’t know her like I do,” Annette said, feeling a little more sure of that than she had been in the last few months of no contact. “Flayn… she left to take a break. I don’t know if it was the Monastery or… other things, but she wouldn’t go on a year long fishing trip and then suddenly drop off the face of the continent.”

“So what was she doing?”

Annette hesitated. “She was… looking for a new place to settle down. I think her f—her brother’s overbearing nature was a bit much and there were… other reasons, but I’m not sure I should really talk about them.”

The pressed together eyebrows turned into raised ones and he frowned in a way that used to spook her when he’d come around a corner. “Annette, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me everything.”

Annette sighed and took another sip of water. “Okay, but only because it might help, but this is… well okay Seteth is Flayn’s father,” she said.

Felix tilted his head thoughtfully and then nodded, like that made sense. That was pretty much Annette’s reaction too.

“Remember in school when Flayn was kidnapped by those creeps who wanted her blood?”

“Yes,” Felix said.

“Well,” Annette said, wrapping her fingers around the glass and tapping a little nervous rhythm against it with her fingernails. “So her blood is special because of her crest, it’s kind of like how those rumors about Jeralt being super old but he looked the same age?”

“I don’t know if Alois and Leonie talking is the same thing as rumors,” Felix said, with another eyebrow raise. So unhelpful sometimes.

She huffed in annoyance. “The _point_ … is that her blood lets her live longer. She’s… well she’s not _much_ older than us. She had some kind of Byleth level nap for a while, which is probably why Seteth is so protective. So she looks the same age even though she was born a long while ago.”

If Flayn had just _let_ Annette style her a little differently it wouldn’t have been so noticeable, but she insisted on keeping her hair in those big poofy curls. She kept saying her mother liked it that way, which Annette understood, but still.

“Hm,” Felix was doing the cute eyebrow thing again. “So someone could be after Seteth for the same reason Flayn was taken.”

“Exactly!” Annette was so relieved. Cyril was visiting Lysithea and the new professor, Remulus, was a patronizing _jerk_ so she was beginning to feel like she was crazy for jumping to clear cut conclusions. Even her father had thought it wasn’t suspicious when she brought it up, but listening had never been his strong suit.

“You said Flayn stopped writing three months ago?”

“Four,” Annette corrected. “Yeah, she was pretty consistent before that. We were… I mean I was going to visit her when she got settled. She had her an eye on a spot. And I… I mean I wasn’t definitely going to _move_ there or anything, but it was…” She shook her head and hands, splashing the water a little. “Ack,” she put the glass down and rubbed the wetness into her sleeve.

“You were thinking about leaving the Academy?” Felix looked irritated, but sometimes that was his default face.

Annette shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. It’s complicated. Either way, we were talking a lot and then she stopped writing.”

Annette hated that she’d immediately jumped to the idea that Flayn had gotten tired of their correspondence (tired of Annette) and was giving her a clean break. She was trying to respect her space and decision, but if she’d pushed at it earlier, maybe Seteth wouldn’t be missing too. Maybe Flayn wouldn’t be missing, potentially like the last time she was missing, for _four months_ in who knew what kind of danger.

“Where was she writing from?” Felix asked.

Annette still had her last letter in her pocket, but she didn’t need to reference it. “An island off the coast of Morfis and Boramas.”

“You were thinking about moving to _Morfis_?” Felix asked, looking definitely irritated now.

“ _Maybe_ ,” Annette said. “They’ve got a ton more to learn about magic there and it’s not like…” She shook her head, before she said something stupid like, ‘anyone really wants me here’ — she knew they did, she could tell Felix did from how irritated he was at the idea of her moving. She just felt left out sometimes. “I was thinking about it, okay? Does it matter right now?”

Felix grunted and crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine. What’s the island called?”

“Seraphim,” Annette said, ignoring Felix’s look at that. It wasn’t like his opinion on the name of an island _really_ mattered in regards to this issue.

Felix stood up from the table. “We’ll send a courier there and I’ll take you back to Garreg Mach.”

“Excuse me?” Annette stood up too.

“You have classes to teach and its…” Felix looked really irritated. “I don’t want you getting involved this shit.”

Oh, he was unbelievable sometimes. “I’m a _professor_ at the Officer’s Academy, Felix. And a war veteran, I don’t need to be babied. And I’m not going to go twiddle my thumbs in class when I know Flayn could be in trouble.”

“Those people who took her the last time aren’t something to play around with,” Felix said, frowning even harder, if that was possible.

“Neither am I,” Annette said, putting her fists on her hips and meeting his glare.

He looked away first, letting out an irritated sigh. “Fine,” he said, admitting defeat again. If this were less worrisome circumstances Annette might have felt smug about it.

“Maybe we should go back though,” Annette said, “to see if we can find Seteth’s trail? _Not_ to drop me off.”

Felix gave an acceding shrug and gestured with his head. “Come on. We can make it back before nightfall if we leave now.”

The thought of another long horse ride made her feel exhausted, but she wasn’t going to let that show. She followed him out of his sitting room, and down the hall in the direction of the stables. 

“Annette,” Felix said, suddenly breaking into the comfortable silence that had grown as they walked.

“Yeeees?”

“Are you and Flayn…” he didn’t finish the sentence, but it wasn’t hard to figure out, especially with Felix.

“Maybe,” Annette said, then added, “It’s complicated.”

He glanced back at her. “I thought you didn’t do that.”

“You can have a relationship without sex, Felix,” Annette said, enjoying that he looked uncomfortable when she said the word sex, even though _he_ was the one bringing up her preferences in regards to not really caring about it. “I guess being married to Sylvain you forget that.”

She remembered when she’d tried explaining to Sylvain, he’d spent so long wondering out loud how much he could’ve gotten done if he didn’t care about sex, that she’d been able to leave and get a snack.

Felix looked away from her. “Is that why it’s complicated?”

“No,” Annette said. “The whole potentially ageless thing and… I don’t know. We’re friends, it’s that whole not _actually_ saying anything, but saying it thing.” It was so frustrating. In books it was easier. In books people said what they wanted to say and everything worked out perfectly.

“I can’t picture either of you _not_ saying anything,” Felix said.

His back was still turned, so it was easy to ball up her fist and hit him in the shoulder blade. He had the nerve to laugh at her with his stupid easy chuckle.

She did feel a little bit steadier now though, which only meant it was easier to think more clearly. “Felix, what did you mean these people aren’t something to play around with? You sounded like you were talking about _now_.”

Felix glanced back at her again, lips pursed. “I’ll tell you on the ride.”

She bit down the urge to tell him to tell her now, since he’d bullied her into sharing secrets and nodded. He _probably_ had a good reason for not telling her now.

They ran into Mercie before they reached the stables, which while a distraction, Annette was happy about it. She hadn’t seen Mercie in person in almost three months. She skipped over towards her and threw herself at Mercie for a big hug. Mercie laughed, lightly, returning it. “Hi Annie. If you’re here for Dedue’s birthday you’re still a little too early.”

“Oh I know that,” Annette said. And then cursed herself that she’d forgotten his present, but it didn’t matter. Later it would matter. Later she would hopefully remember where she’d put it. “I’d love to catch up, but Felix and I are heading back to Garreg Mach.”

“You are?” Mercie asked with raised eyebrows at Felix, who was weirdly not making eye contact with her.

“Yes,” Felix said, and that was it. He was so ridiculous sometimes.

“Seteth’s been missing,” Annette said. “And I think Flayn might be too, so we’re looking into it.”

“Oh, that’s terrible,” Mercie said, sympathetically and immediately believing Annette. She looked like she was hesitating about something, but that wasn’t too much like Mercie, until she finally turned towards Felix and it made sense. “Felix. Before you go, would you please talk to Genna?”

“What?” Felix turned back around looking indignant.

“Oh, is that the new music teacher you’re jealous of?” Annette asked without thinking and then closed her mouth quickly with a snap.

“You two are unbelievable,” Felix said. He looked more tired than angry. She wanted to know what was up, but they had a few hours to kill on the ride there to wheedle it out of him then.

Mercie sighed. “You know you can be intimidating sometimes,” Mercie said to Felix, who had his arms crossed over his chest, staring her down, looking well, _intimidating_. Mercie was unfazed. “She’s leaving and she wouldn’t say exactly that it was you, but I offered to stay out of her way if I was making her uncomfortable and even that didn’t convince her.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Felix said, sharply. “You weren’t the one lying.”

“ _Felix_ ,” Mercie said, a little exasperated. Actually, now that Annette was looking at her more closely, she looked a little more tired than normal. She hadn’t mentioned anything specific dragging her down in her last letter, but it had been a few days ago, so maybe something had happened.

Annette resisted the urge to hop and ask what was going on, since they seemed in the thick of it.

“I’m glad she’s leaving,” Felix said, in kind of a snotty voice. “One less thing to worry about. Besides, Dimitri was probably going to fire her anyway, if he had any sense.”

“Felix, you don’t understand what she’s been through,” Mercie said. “She wasn’t expecting to see me and she’s clearly been through some trauma.”

Annette met her limit on butting out. She had to know. “What happened with the music teacher?”

Felix shook his head. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter. We need to head out.” He gestured with his head for Annette to move with him and then shot. “Mercedes, drop it,” as he stepped forward again.

Annette would’ve intervened—and she really _wanted_ to because Mercie looked so sad—but they really did have to get going. She could be worried about multiple things at once, but she didn’t know how to deal with all of them at the same time. She hadn’t figured that out yet. One of these days.

She squeezed Mercie’s hand. “It’ll be okay. I’ll see you soon.”

Before Mercie could say anything, or Felix could get too far ahead, he was stopped by one of Glenn’s guards. The handsome one, Jonas. He was taller than Felix, but shorter than Sylvain and Dimitri and pretty broad, with Fhirdiad coloring of lightly tanned skin and dirty blond hair. Annette had always liked him and he didn’t seem scared of Felix—like some of the staff—so that probably meant Felix liked him too.

“Duke Fraldarius,” Jonas said. “Have you seen Ivan? He was supposed to switch off for the afternoon shift, but he wasn’t at His Highness’s last scheduled location.”

“How late is he?” Felix asked.

“He’s not,” Jonas said, “but he’s also not early. Ivan is _always_ early.”

Felix nodded. “Where was His Highness supposed to go next?”

“Writing lessons,” Jonas said, which well mystery solved. Glenn was trying to squirm his way out of them. He hated writing lessons.

“Where was he before that?” Felix asked. His face looked blank, like it did during the war before Byleth gave orders and he was scanning the field to make his own calls.

“With Her Highness at tea, but she’s still with His Majesty right now.”

Annette watched them both mull over that span of the castle, but she’d spent a lot of time with Glenn and Valya when they were at the Monastery and she knew what that kid was like… not to mention what Mercie had said about the new music teacher in her last letter. “Does Glenn know his favorite teacher was planning to leave?” Annette asked.

Which wow was apparently the wrong thing to say, because Felix had one of his swords off his belt and was making a beeline in one direction, to which Jonas promptly followed and Annette and Mercedes had no choice to join. Annette was _so_ tired, she was going to make Felix do all the work when they road back to Garreg Mach.

“Why is everyone freaking out?” Annette asked Mercie as they jogged behind them. “Glenn is hard to wrangle on a good day.”

“Annie,” Mercie said, keeping her eyes focused on Felix’s back. “Do you remember… Monica and Tomas?”

“Yes, but what does—” She didn’t finish, because they caught up with Felix and Jonas and there were big bodyguard sized feet sticking out of a door that Felix and Jonas were halfway into, standing super still.

Annette and Mercie tried to get closer, but Felix held one tensed hand out behind him to tell them to stop. Annette was already past that point, but she and Mercie stayed behind him. She didn’t have time to take in the unconscious or dead body of Ivan, because Glenn was being held in a threatening manner by a wild eyed person and she understood why Jonas and Felix hadn’t gone in yet.

“Cord,” Jonas said, his lance had been out since he’d run into them, but it was being held in a downwards stance like Felix had his sword pitched. “W _hat_ are you doing? Let the prince go.”

Dimitri’s steward had the look of a student who forgot there was an assignment times _like a billion_. “This wasn’t how this was supposed to go, but it doesn’t matter anymore. Don’t fucking move, Fraldarius,” he said in a sharp voice Annette hadn’t heard him use before (not that she’d really talked to him much, but he was usually so toady and not up for small talk) — which immediately made her think about Mercie a few seconds ago asking if she remembered Monica and Tomas and her throat was dry and tight.

Glenn looked a mixture of frustrated and scared and Annette’s heart was racing so hard for him. She wasn’t a violent person by nature, but if this piece of slime even so much as hurt a hair on Glenn’s head she’d blast _his_ head off.

“How was it supposed to go?” Felix asked, stalling his forward step into the room. His voice was flat and unemotional, but Annette could see the tension in every line of his shoulders. He was terrified too.

“I had something she wanted,” Cord said, wildly, gripping Glenn even more tightly so it looked uncomfortable. “It was going to get me off this piece of shit assignment with you, you worthless Seiros worshipping _ants_. But … if I have to give her a dead prince, I’ll do that too if you step any closer.”

Felix was breathing hard. “What did she want?” he asked, voice still flat. “Let Glenn go and we can give you whatever it is.”

Cord scoffed, “Right. Like I’d trust you on that.” His hand was covering Glenn’s mouth and he jerked him closer towards himself, hard enough that Annette was going to flatten him _no matter what_. She would’ve done it now but he had Glenn too close. “This is my only leverage.”

“Felix, he could warp,” Mercie said, so quietly that Annette almost didn’t even hear, but Felix gave a faint nod, meaning he already knew that.

“It’s good leverage,” Felix said, still emotionless. “What do you want.”

“For this entire Kingdom to be ground into dust like the Empire,” Cord said. “For monarchies built on stolen blood to be torn down through their wreckage and used for their remains, for all of you to—”

Annette hadn’t noticed there was someone else in the room, until she started standing, but behind Cord there was a woman with raven black hair and an equally wild look on her face as she brought herself up to her feet and raised her hand towards him. Cord was still busy ranting his nonsense he didn't even notice.

Annette hadn’t been literal about the head knocking off thing, she didn’t think she could _do_ that, but the sharp blinding light of magic from a really powerful _Aura_ was focused into a single beam of light that completely severed Cord’s head from his neck.

Felix didn't even wait until Cord’s body had dropped before grabbing Glenn and shoving him at Annette, which was fine with Annette, who held him tightly, and after a quick check to make sure he wasn’t injured, covered his eyes before he turned back around to look at the scene.

The woman’s hand was still outstretched, but she looked down at Cord’s body and then retched and turned to the side to throw up. Mercie pushed her way past Annette and Jonas who was standing pretty closely to her with his lance back at a ready position.

Mercie reached out to Felix, but didn’t have his sword at the ready and let her move past him to check on the _really_ powerful spell caster. Annette knew faith based magic wasn’t her expertise, but still.

“Genna?” Mercie asked her, clicking into place that it was the music teacher, although Annette was sure her name was Genevieve and didn’t know what was going on that Mercie was on a nickname basis already. “Are you all right?”

“His head—I didn’t think—is Glenn okay?” she asked.

“He’s fine,” Mercie said, soothingly and took that as an invitation to put an arm around Genna and move some of her hair out of the way.

“You’re what he was after?” Felix asked, tilting his head in an assessing manner.

“Annie,” Glenn said, making Annette miss the response as she had to focus on Glenn trying to wriggle out of her grip. “Let me see. I’m not scared. I’m almost six.”

“Not a chance,” Annette said, holding him closer and making sure he did not get loose, because now that she was able breathe again and could look down, his guard was definitely dead and peacetime was supposed to mean that five year olds _didn’t_ see two dead bodies, especially one without a head.

“Genna,” Mercie said, in that voice she used to soothe injured patients (and sometimes Annette at the Royal School of Sorcery). “I didn’t know you had a crest.”

Genna was still crouched over, either like she was ready to vomit again, or she was trying to avoid looking at the scene Glenn wanted to see so badly.She lifted her head slightly to look at Mercie.

“I didn’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> meanwhile, dimitri attempts for the fifth time to get valya to hold a tea cup gently, but is unable to scold her when she breaks them in her smol hand, because her delighted giggle is too cute


	23. Mixed Messages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth gives Ingrid a message to deliver. 
> 
> (or if ingrid wasn't so gung-ho for duty she'd be a lot more gossipy)

“Paper.”

It was the first thing the Professor had said since she had gone limp in the center of the temple and no amount of Linhardt’s healing had been able to wake her up. Her eyes had moved wildly beneath her eyelids as Ingrid carried her outside. They were hopeful getting her out of the temple would take care of whatever spell the Professor had been put under, but it had been another hour and a terse discussion about where the closest healer would be before anything changed.

Then she’d suddenly awoken with a sharp breath and dropped her head to her knees, holding her skull like it pained her.

“Pr—Your Grace?” Ingrid asked.

“Paper,” the Professor said again, this time more urgently.

“Uh, Teach? You gave us a bit of a scare back there,” Claude said, underselling the last two hours. “Would love if you could say something to reassure us that we didn’t leave your brain in the temple.”

“Give me _paper_ ,” the Professor said again, more firmly this time. “And a pen.”

Ingrid looked at Claude who also seemed at a loss for words, but Linhardt had merely pulled out a spare parchment from his own notebook and a pen and handed it to her.

She didn’t lift her head, rather she scribbled something down in fast hurried strokes and then accepted Linhardt’s book to write on the back of when she had trouble with it and then kept going in the same harried speed. Claude tried leaning over to see what she was writing, the confusion on his face clear.

Ingrid couldn’t blame him, she wasn’t really making sense of this either.

Finally, the Professor stopped scrawling words on the parchment and lifted her head. She turned immediately away from Claude and looked at Ingrid, opening her mouth to say something, but then instead of speaking she grabbed Ingrid’s shoulder—Ingrid had no time at all to react as she was pulled into an unfamiliar and strong hug.

She’d hugged the Professor once. It was at her and Dimitri’s wedding and it had been much less enthusiastic.

Claude made a movement with his hands and forehead, asking Ingrid what was going on, but Ingrid didn’t know so she merely returned the hug and patted the Professor’s back, until she released her.

The Professor met her gaze finally, her eyes were wet and there was something else behind them that Ingrid hadn’t seen before, a wild sort of terror that set fear deep in her bones. “Ingrid, I need you to fly as fast as you can back to Fhirdiad.” She shoved the parchment she’d been furiously writing on into Ingrid’s hand. “Tell Dimitri—” The Professor breathed out a shuddered breath, swallowed, and then steeled her gaze into something a bit more familiar. “Tell him to bring whoever he can, that he can _trust_ to that location. That’s where they are.”

Ingrid couldn’t tear herself away from the Professor long enough to look down at the paper. “That’s where who are?”

“Those Who Slither in the Dark,” she said, as if that was something Ingrid should have known.

“Teach?” Claude asked. “You’re talking about our Dance Partners? How do you know that?”

“I … had a vision, it doesn’t matter, that’s where they are, I think—it’s the general area. We can’t waste any time on this. They’re a lot worse than we thought.”

Not a bit reassuring, but Ingrid stared at the Professor for a moment longer, seeing the steel in her light green eyes and nodded, rising up to her feet to prepare Asper for flight.

“If you know where they are, why aren’t we all headed back for more reinforcements?” Linhardt asked and Ingrid couldn’t blame him for the question all things considered.If she hadn’t been so used to following her orders, she probably would have asked it too.

“I’m fuzzy on the details, I need to make sure I remembered right,” the Professor said, rubbing her fist against her temple. “They have weapons we don’t have and we don’t want them to know we’re coming or to find the wrong entrance… I could have sworn there were two, but that fight was outside so maybe not.”

Claude shot Ingrid another look, but Ingrid pursed her lips and kept dutifully preparing her pegasus. He sighed, loudly and obviously and then crouched in front of the Professor. “Teach,” he said softly. “You’re not making a lot of sense right now. You put your sword into a hole in the ground in what one might call a Time Temple then passed out, and now you know where our mystery ends but maybe don’t?”

The Professor wasn’t making eye contact with him. “I’ll walk there if you don’t want to go with me.”

“Obviously not,” Claude said, with a scoff. “But give me a little bit more of a leg up here, Teach.”

“Lin,” the Professor said, causing Linhardt to raise his eyebrows. “Thank you for the pen.” She handed it back to him and patted his hand before drawing her hand back. “Shit,” she said and put her head in her hands again. “I know this sounds nuts, I know it does, but the stuff they can do is… monstrous we _have_ to stop them now before it’s too late.”

“What’s the name of the place?” Claude asked. He was still crouched, still observing the Professor carefully.

“Shambhala,” the Professor said. She raised her head and met his eyes deliberately, but it looked like she had to push herself to do it.

“And where exactly is it?”

“South of here,” the Professor answered immediately, no hesitation in her voice. “It’s underground in Hyrm territory. I know _where_ it is, but I’m not fully confident on the how to get specifically there. We’ve fought—” She shook her head sharply, closing her eyes for a moment. “No. We _haven’t_ fought them, but they could be fought in at least two different places. I think they’re underground now, but we need reinforcements.”

“Teach,” Claude said, steadily. “I’m going to ask you again, how you know this? I’m not Ingrid, I can’t jump on the back of my wyvern without some kind of reassurance I’m not going to get shot down because of a very elaborate vision-based trap in some ancient temple.”

The Professor sighed and looked upwards to the break of sky beneath the tree canopy they’d found shelter under. “The symbol was time. It was change. It was… everything. I saw every possible outcome, Claude. Every different decision I could have taken. It’s muddled and it’s fading in and out, thank the _Goddess_ , no matter how smug she is about it — but there was a time where we fought them and also another time and there’s been times where they killed us.”

Ingrid stopped packing up Asper. There was a weighted silence, before Claude finally broke the tension. “How the hell is your brain still _intact_?”

“Sothis,” the Professor said, and then gave a choked, painful sounding laugh as she dropped her head into her hands. “Or I’ve had a complete mental break and I’m hearing things. Entirely possible.”

Linhardt was still holding the pen she’d handed back, loosely in his grip. “You said, we, that means you…”

“Picked a different class,” the Professor said. “Picked a different path. Chose a different life. A different…” She dropped her hands to her lap and then shifted them to the floor so she could push herself up to standing. “People we can trust,” she said to Ingrid, again, meeting her eyes with that steady steel again.

Ingrid nodded. The possibilities of what the Professor had said were… unthinkable. There were too many times she’d thought about different outcomes, but _seeing_ them? That was… torture. “Are you sure that you’ll be all right on your own?”

The Professor gave her a fond smile, but there was something sad tinged around the edges that Ingrid didn’t want to read too closely into. She knew how many close calls they’d all had if only things had been a little different.

“I’ll be fine. I don’t have any plans to go in there sword swinging; I want to scout the place before we go in full force and be certain I’m remembering correctly.” She blinked, as if she’d forgotten something and then swallowed and shook her head again. “Tell Dimitri to send the children to the Monastery, there’s … something… I can’t _remember_ what, but… it’s safe there.”

Ingrid nodded and went back to preparing Asper for flight.

“Lin,” Claude said. “Go with Ingrid.”

“Why?” Linhardt said. “I don’t think I’d be much help convincing the King of United Fódlan to send troop reinforcements, given, well… everything.”

“Then piss off after you get there,” he said, causing Ingrid to glance over her shoulder and see the surprising amount of concern on his face. “If this is as bad as it sounds, you don’t need to be there. You’ve done enough.”

Linhardt opened his mouth and then Ingrid thought he might yawn but he glared and said. “I would have _left_ if I wanted to leave, Claude.”

“Curiosity isn’t worth dragging yourself into another war for,” Claude countered.

“Maybe not to you,” Linhardt said back. Ingrid suddenly felt embarrassed watching them, it had all the shades of a lovers quarrel, but she couldn’t remember Claude being this off-balance before. And practically speaking she needed to know if she was going to have a second rider, before she finished.

“Don’t be an idiot, Lin.”

“Hardly ever me,” Linhardt said.

Claude gave a frustrated sigh and then said, “Fine, but Eira can’t hold all three of us, so you have to go with Ingrid anyway. You want to come with the calvary even though you specifically told me you _don’t_ want to give involved in this kind of thing anymore, that’s your decision.”

Linhardt was staring at Claude, his expression hard to read, he turned slowly, picked up his bag and put his notebook and pen back into it. Then he walked towards Ingrid. “I assume this is all right by you?”

“Yes, of course,” Ingrid said. Claude was right, his wyvern would have trouble with three. “You can probably decipher half of what everyone’s said better than me anyway.”

“You’d be surprised,” Linhardt said, but she’d stroked his ego so he looked a little pleased with himself. She wasn’t even lying. Observing him this past month, he was a lot sharper than she’d given him credit for in school. It was like if Sylvain had decided napping was a better pastime than hitting on girls.

“Don’t engage without us,” Ingrid said to both Claude and the Professor.

Claude snorted, but he was facing away from them, looking back to where the temple was hidden beneath the cliff past the tree cover. “That’s not going to be hard to follow, I have no problem waiting for the reinforcements and two person army isn’t my style.”

“Your Grace?” Ingrid asked, because it was her style.

The Professor’s lips twitched a little. “We won’t be engaging anything. Fly safe, Ingrid.”

She nodded and helped Linhardt onto Eira’s adjusted saddle, before rising up in front of him and making sure they were adjusted.

Then she flew to Fhirdiad. Linhardt didn’t say anything, Ingrid was a little concerned he’d fallen asleep, but when she glanced back, he was dozy eyed, but awake. It took longer than she would have liked to get back to the capital, but it was far faster than any other method of travel. The city was lit up in candlelight and less crowded now that it was evening. She landed in the pegasi stables and made sure Asper was tended to before striding straight for the nearest servant to inform her where the king was.

Linhardt shuffled behind her, quiet and if she was understanding him, a little nervous. She wasn’t sure what to say to put him at ease so she said nothing. It was too important to deliver this information to Dimitri to dawdle.

Which was easier said than done, when she saw her wife for the first time in _weeks_. Dorothea lit up at the sight of her and gracefully swept towards her, throwing her arms around Ingrid’s neck and kissing her, with no regard for decorum, or the grime and sweat of the long ride. Dorothea, of course, tasted and smelled like roses and sunshine.

Ingrid held Dorothea’s waist, her hands unintentionally skimming her wife’s sides to reassure her that it was her right there, as she couldn’t help do every time she came back from a mission that had taken longer than she would have liked. “I need to find His Majesty,” Ingrid said, but she didn’t make much of a move to release Dorothea.

Dorothea sighed, resigned and leaned down to kiss Ingrid’s nose before pulling back. “Good luck. I was _summoned_ here about my music tutor recommendation… I’m assuming Gen hasn’t outgrown her inability to keep her mouth shut around nobles, but there seems to have been a mysterious kerfuffle because they won’t let me in.” Dorothea frowned and glanced back of her shoulder in the direction of the hall where Dimitri’s private audience chamber was. “Cord was a bit of a drag, but the new person they have is utterly immoveable.”

“They’ll move for me,” Ingrid said, taking Dorothea’s hand, mostly so she could stop caressing her wife in a public setting.

“Oh, I love it when you talk like that,” Dorothea said, smiling and then noticed Linhardt behind them. “Linny?”

“Dorothea,” Linhardt said.

“What are you—Ingrid!”

Ingrid dragged Dorothea along, obviously startling her, and made her way to the chambers. She and Linhardt could catch up later. There wasn’t time to waste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dorothea would object to the manhandling, but ingrid's about to order people around and she enjoys watching that too much to complain


	24. Enlighten & Experiment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashe and Caspar are in the wrong place at the wrong time for TWSITD to pick up the pace of their experiments. 
> 
> (or, ashe stops being polite and starts getting real)

The first time they came, Caspar fought them so hard that he twisted his already broken arm out of alignment and gave one of them a head wound with his splint. The first time they came, they dragged Ashe off and left Caspar in the cell injured and Ashe couldn’t be sure if his panic was more about where he was going or what he was leaving behind. The first time they came Ashe almost threw up.

He didn’t feel better the second, third, or fourth time they came and took him or took Caspar, but all that seemed to happen was them taking samples of his blood, talking over him, and sending him back to the cell. Caspar always yelled, kicked, and fought when they tried to take Ashe, no matter how much he tried to convince him not to.

It had gotten Ashe to see more of Cleo. She treated them fine, but there wasn’t the same kind of care most healers he’d worked with had, more like a competent stable master taking care of the horses.

Today was much of the same and Ashe had to put aside the frustrated anger and fear that happened every time Caspar fought and was knocked back into place. He couldn’t wonder if _this_ was the time they thought Caspar was too much trouble, because Ashe was now pretty sure he knew how to pick those locks.

The problem wasn’t the locks, but the tools, or the lack of them. Ashe had plenty of time between them taking him or Caspar to rooms full of lights and colors he’d never seen in combination before—he’d had plenty of time to think. He wasn’t going to die here. And he _wasn’t_ going to let Caspar die here, even if that would prove harder.

Ashe was silent when they took him, because they were like Cleo, he wasn’t a person, he was a thing. And if Ashe was a quiet thing, he noticed they’d talk. Information was a tool too.

Pittacus wore the same head covering that Bias did, but she didn’t talk as much. From what Ashe could tell, she was second in command to Charsis, who reminded him a lot of Cornelia in looks and attitude, and there were people below them that either worked as guards or … whatever their version of a nurse was. If that’s what it was when they stuck a needle in Ashe’s arm and drained him of blood. He’d noticed they’d been looking at the blood in glass vials, holding it up like Manuela used to do when she was making a new healing concoction or Dedue when he was getting the ratio of ingredients right for that delicious cold tea he made in the summer.

So, they were studying his blood. Ashe was sure of that, but why they were doing it, he wasn’t so sure. From the vague talk he’d heard there were crests and there might have been another experiment that the Leto woman, Ashe hadn’t seen yet, was working on that also involved them.

“I don’t want to waste another body testing Cethleann,” said a man who Ashe had heard called Minos to a woman he was pretty sure was called Eris. “Especially after Charsis pushed our timeline so far ahead.”

“Don’t let her hear you question her,” Eris said, moving some tools around. Ashe had tried to grab one of them the last time he was here, but he never got close enough so he was trying to keep an eye out for something smaller and less noticeable that they might not worry about him being in proximity of—it wasn’t something he was still in practice (or particularly proud) of, but he thought he could still snag something without someone noticing.

“I’m not questioning her!” Minos said. He was pretty nervous about the mention of disloyalty, Ashe filed that away too. “I’m being practical. If we burn through Cethleann’s blood on failures, we won’t have enough to actually complete the plan.”

Eris clucked at him and frowned, looking intently at something Ashe couldn’t see from where he was strapped to a cot. “We might still have some Gloucester left, but not much. Judging by the tests we’ve run, it seems like it’s more compatible. Myson’s notes indicate that the green blood would work better on someone with natural magical prowess.”

“Be nice if he was here to tell us that himself,” Minos muttered.

The name Myson was familiar, but not enough that Ashe could remember why. It was frustrating, but he couldn’t blame it on the head injury. Cleo had come back to make sure it was healed completely.

“We need to run it past Charsis,” Eris said.

Minos didn’t look thrilled by that, but he nodded and shuffled out of the room, presumably to ask her. Ashe wondered if she was close by. He’d gone out that door before, but he hadn’t been able to tell if there were rooms or offices on the way back to the cells. It did feel like he was going down at least. That probably meant he needed to go _up_ when they got out of here.

It was a few minutes more before Minos came back, Charsis along with him. She strode in with a sense of ownership and a pointed look in Ashe’s direction. She was relaxed, casual, beautiful, and completely dangerous. He looked away before she did.

“Gloucester?” Charsis asked.

Eris nodded. She seemed a little nervous, but was mostly hiding it well. “That’s also the one that worked in the last trials, right?”

“Presumably,” Charsis said. “Since Leto let Kitten go, we don’t know. She could have reacted badly to the bloodline and imploded her little Kitten skull minutes after she scurried off.” She strode to the other side of the room, movement determined as it fluttered her dress and the feathers at her shoulders. “Do we have enough for both of them?”

Eris cleared her throat. “No. Only one, if we want to follow the process instructions completely.”

“I vote the loud one,” Minos said. Ashe had to drive his nails into his palm to keep quiet.

Charsis laughed. “He does have a fighting spirit, which seemed to matter on the ones that almost worked, but I think this one is smart.” She walked over towards Ashe, cool eyes examining and seeing a little more than he’d like. He noted that they were teal in color when she was this close. Ashe really didn’t like her being this close. “I heard you were very good at archery,” she said, leaning towards him on the cot they’d strapped him too.

Ashe didn’t respond. Her perfume was sickly sweet and made him want to cough and he could pretty much see down the entire cut of her top where her breasts had been pushed up and forward.

Charsis’s hair was the same kind of light pink as Cornelia, but a little warmer. It brushed against his face as she leaned in close. “Wouldn’t you like to be better?”

If Ashe was one of the heroes from the books he’d been trying to remember verbatim to tell back to Caspar the last few nights (at least he thought they were nights), he would’ve had something quick witted to say. He said nothing instead.

“Hm,” Charsis said. Her frown was almost a pout. Then she leaned back from him, redepositing her cleavage back from her neckline to her chest with a quick adjustment by her hands, and walked back to the two others. “Test it on him. He’s already here. If it burns through him, toss him out and try the Nab blood on the next one. We’ll get more subjects if we have to. I’m not wasting my time anymore.”

Minos nodded but Eris went straight for something that Ashe couldn't see, until she was coming at him with it. It was a pretty big needle. He breathed a little heavier, because there was something inside of the stopper this time and it didn’t take a genius to figure out it was probably blood. He wasn’t sure it was _only_ blood, because the liquid inside was glimmering in small reflective gold specks, like one of Hilda’s old forgotten art projects she kept leaving in the library.

Eris didn’t seem to even pay attention to him as she pulled his arm flat and brushed gloved fingers against each of his veins, tapping them and staring at them with an examining eye.

Ashe couldn’t look at it, so he looked up and saw that Charsis was watching him intently with a small smile. And that’s when the needle went in.

It didn’t really hurt, until it hurt _a lot_. Ashe spasmed in pain on the table, thrashing to get away from it and them and then Minos held him down against the cot and even after the needle was gone it felt like his blood was burning through his veins from the inside out. He screamed once and then passed out.

Ashe woke up in the cell, immediately reminded of the burning pain with every nerve ending he had lit up. He wasn’t restrained, which somewhere vaguely he noted as a good sign, but when he looked at where the needle had gone in there were marks all through the veins on his arm, upraised like he’d had them tattooed that way.

Caspar was sleeping. He was still restrained, but he’d come as far towards where Ashe was as possible so that his hand was millimeters from Ashe’s face. Ashe was tired and still in pain, so he gave into the impulse to grab Caspar’s hand.

Caspar woke up with a snorted breath. He pulled his hand back and fisted it up and looked around then saw Ashe and breathed out a huge sigh. “You gotta stop doing that to me.”

“I’m trying,” Ashe said, weakly. He couldn’t manage much of a smile to reassure him. His hands felt like pins and needles that were also on fire. This was going to really mess up his plan to get out of here.

“What’d they do?” Caspar asked, quietly.

“I… I don’t know.” He had ideas, but none of them felt really sane or possible. None of this felt real. Caspar was bent forward at an awkward angle, trying to move closer to him as far as his restraint would let him and he looked really worried. Ashe wanted to… “Caspar…”

“Yeah?”

Ashe looked at him and felt like a coward. He was never going to be like a hero in one of his books. “Did you see anything last time you were in that room? Something small,” he held his fingers up to show him the size, “and even thinner. Metal would be best but I could make almost anything work.”

“Not really,” Caspar said with a wince. “I mean, I was mostly trying to kick the guy in the shin. I didn’t pay much attention to their equipment.”

And he might not have a chance if they took them again. “We have to get out of here,” Ashe said. “We’re _going_ to get out of here,” Ashe said, more to himself than Caspar. He needed to get his head back on straight and ignore whatever they’d done to him. He could deal with it later. There’d be a later.

“Yeah, yeah,” Caspar said, but he didn’t sound like he believed it. “Can you move? I was trying to get you up on the bench, but I can’t get any further than this.”

“I think so,” Ashe said. He wobbled a little as he stood, but his legs didn’t hurt as badly as his arms, shoulders, and chest did. Caspar grasped his forearm to steady him and then pulled to get Ashe seated on the bench next to him.

Ashe swallowed and settled next to him. He was a lot closer than he usually put himself and Caspar still had his hand on his arm.

“You remember Fort Merceus?” Caspar asked. Even not for Caspar, his voice was soft and a hair above a whisper.

“Yes,” Ashe said. It’s where he’d thought Caspar died.

“Me and Lin were…” Caspar stared at the door separating them from outside. “We were supposed to back up the Death Knight and hold the line, but man, the Professor tore through him and we… Edelgard said the retreat was the right call, but I could tell she was upset we’d lost. I was upset we’d lost.”

“Can’t say I agree,” Ashe said, lightly.

Caspar turned and then when he noticed Ashe’s strained smile, snorted. “Yeah, I guess. The thing is… after that, we all knew we were probably done for. We’d been making good advances and Edelgard was… she was _good_ at that shit. She always picked the strongest path with the least amount of casualties and I really admired that.”

“Caspar,” Ashe said, quietly.

“Yeah, I know, it doesn’t make sense,” Caspar said. He let out a long breath and stared up at the ceiling. “From your side of things you’ve never been on the other end, knowing you’re going to lose, knowing you threw yourself in with the wrong fight and…” The hand on Ashe’s arm loosened a little and Caspar dropped his head. “I feel like that _now_ , you know?”

There was something about Caspar of all people being scared that made Ashe… angry. It didn’t make him more afraid, or sad, or anything, it made him mad that these people were making Caspar feel like this all over again.

“You look pissed,” Caspar said, blinking in confusion as he looked Ashe over.

“I am,” Ashe said. “I’m mad that these people think they can treat us, treat those villagers, like this and we’ll… _let them_.”

Ashe grabbed Caspar’s other hand and held onto it. “We’re going to get out of here. I mean it. And then we’re going to get my friends and then we’re going to watch the Professor tear though these monsters.”

Caspar stared at him and then one side of his mouth lifted and then the other. “Yeah.” He said. “Yeah!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> charsis checks herself in the mirror out later to make sure she's still got it and decides she does


	25. Close to Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix, Dimitri, and co finally get the full story of Glenn's music instructor and Ingrid arrives with her message.
> 
> (or, why did i put this many characters in the same chapter)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was kind of a struggle, so much exposition and characters, but next chapter has shirtless sylvain so hang in there, i know i am

Felix leaned against the door frame between Dimitri’s private audience chamber where Genevieve Bisset or Genna Marten or whoever the fuck she was sat quietly, being fussed over by Mercedes, and the connecting room where Dimitri was getting Glenn’s side of things.

“Then what happened?” Dimitri asked. All things considered he seemed pretty calm, although Felix knew better and didn’t blame him.

Valya babbled something loud and off key and Glenn glared at her with as much annoyance as a friendly five year old could muster, but waited until she was done, before saying “I saw Cord and he was pushing Genevieve so I went to protect her.”

Felix turned towards them. “How?”

“I ran at him,” Glenn said, “to take out his legs so he’d leave her alone, but he was…” He frowned, making a face that was too much like Byleth when she was irritated. “He was really fast. Then he grabbed me and Ivan…” The bravado of earlier wavered a little and Glenn’s lip quivered. Felix wasn’t sure if what he felt was relief that Glenn was finally taking this seriously or unfiltered rage all over again. “Is Ivan dead?”

Dimitri was frowning, while absentmindedly letting Valya hold onto his hand to lean back in midair. He didn't say anything for a moment too long, so Annette, who was behind Glenn did.

“Yes,” Annette said softly and brushed a soft hand through his hair. “He was protecting you. I don’t think he’d regret it.”

Glenn’s confusion felt all too familiar to when Felix’s father said the same thing about his namesake in not so many words. Dying was dying. It didn’t matter for what cause.Felix looked over at the other room again. Now Mercedes was trying to give Genevieve tea, but she was shaking her head. He didn’t like how quickly Mercedes was trusting any of this.

When Felix turned back, Dimitri was comforting Glenn in his arms, while Annette distracted a curious Valya from trying to join in. Felix pushed himself off the door frame and walked into the room where Mercedes and Glenn’s music teacher were.

“You’ve never killed anyone before,” Felix said to her. He’d seen that face before, the one where she’d realized Dimitri’s steward was dead. Not to mention the vomit. He’d never seen that look on someone her age, though.

Genevieve blinked at him. “Why are you saying that like it’s strange?”

“Because it is,” Felix said. “You were fighting age when the war was going on, what were you doing?”

She pursed her lips. “ _Avoiding_ the war like everyone else who wasn’t conscripted.”

“Felix,” Mercedes chided.

Felix ignored her. “That was a pretty powerful spell attack for someone who didn’t fight.”

“That’s not a question,” Genevieve said. She had a pretty sharp stare for someone who worked at the palace and was supposedly prior staff to a Baron’s house. Felix might have respected the lack of deference if any of the other shit surrounding this entire situation hadn’t been stacked up.

Felix turned away from them and walked back to the other room. Glenn had calmed down a bit, Dimitri had a hand on the side of his face and was talking to him softly. Felix, as he’d told Dimitri, couldn’t deal with kids and wanted to pick Glenn up and shake him for being so fucking stupid. He shouldn’t have been surprised, with his two parents, that he’d do something so dangerous and idiotic and put himself at risk. He was the _prince_ he was supposed to be protected not throw himself directly into the middle of danger.

Felix was going to increase his training when this was over. Gilbert was useless. If Glenn was going to be as foolish as Dimitri, Felix was going to make sure he actually knew how to take out a larger opponent.

The door to the other chamber opened and Felix strode towards it, hand on his sword belt, but it was Dedue carrying an armful of things. Dimitri had also gone to the door (Felix glanced back, Annette was entertaining both children) and approached Dedue with a raised eyebrow.

“These were the only items that appeared out of place,” Dedue said and walked to set them down on a nearby table that occasionally acted as a desk. Dimitri, with a face dripping in concern towards the other room, closed the door before turning back around.

Felix was already looking at the items put down. Hair dye and a few books. One of which had a title about… “What the hell is this?” Felix asked, picking the book up and walking towards Mercedes and Genevieve.

“A book,” she said.

“ _The True Murder Tales of Neue Rohim_ doesn’t sound like a regular book,” Felix said. He didn’t know what it sounded like it, but it didn’t sound like something a music teacher would have on hand.

Genevieve looked irritated, which was setting Felix off, but Mercedes seemed intrigued. “I think I heard of that one. Wasn’t it where that story about the ghosts in the marshes near Morgaine came from?”

Dimitri and Dedue had walked the few paces so that Mercedes and Genevieve were both looking up at them from the divan. That seemed to smooth Genevieve’s irritation into something moderately respectful, which he guessed was a benefit of having Dimitri in the room.

“I’m writing an opera,” she said, unexpectedly.

Felix raised his eyebrows. “About _murder_?”

Genevieve pushed her, apparently dyed, hair behind her ears. “It’s about a serial murderer who falls in love with one of his victims and then tries to teach her how to kill with him, but she ends up being better at it and kills him to clear the competition.”

There was a careful silence in the room at that and then Genevieve added in a mutter, “It’s supposed to be a comedy.”

“Hm,” Dedue said. “Those were the music sheets and small notebook you had?”

Genevieve nodded.

“It sounds intriguing,” Mercedes said, completely sincere. Felix shot her a look that she absolutely saw and then absolutely ignored.

Dimitri walked back to the adjoining door, opened it slightly to check on the children (who were still in a room with no other opening, safe with Annette) and then closed it again. “Why was Cord so interested in you?” he asked the question, finally.

Genevieve fiddled with her sleeve, not answering. Mercedes put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It’s all right, Genna—Gen,” she corrected herself.

Genevieve looked at her for a long moment and then glanced at Dimitri and took a steeling breath.

“I didn’t know him, or I don’t think I did, but he’s part of a group of people who…” She cut off and then leaned forward to grab the cup of tea she’d rejected before. It had to be cooled by now, but she still took a sip and then another deep breath before continuing. “They experiment on people, children. They’d finished their first set of trials on people _with_ crests, to give them another one,” she said this with a small twist of her mouth, like she wasn’t entirely sure of it. “They said their next step was putting crests into people that didn’t have them.”

“So,” Dimitri said, a look on his face Felix didn’t like. It reminded him too much of the boar, all placid and friendly on the outside and not a glimpse of it reaching his eyes. “They moved from nobles in the Empire to commoners?”

“It had to be easier that way,” Genevieve said, matter of fact. “Especially when someone had no family left to notice them missing.”

Mercedes looked _guilty_ of all things. Felix had been holding himself back but he felt the boiling anger rising up in him. He was so pissed at her for acting like that. She had _nothing_ to do with what her brother had done and he was dead. She shouldn’t be carrying his burden years after he was gone. It was a waste of everyone’s time and energy.

“Do you know who they are?” Dimitri asked.

“They called themselves Agarthans,” Genevieve said. “I think.” She put the tea cup back down on the table and folded her hands together in her lap.

“What did they do?” Mercedes asked, gently. Which was probably better than Felix snapping it. His patience on a good day was low, and now it felt frayed at the edges.

“They tortured us for months… maybe, probably longer, until they were sure one of us had a crest.”

“Who’s us?” Felix asked. He thought he’d asked it gently, but judging by the frown Dimitri gave him it didn’t have the intended effect.

“The other children,” Genevieve said.

“There are others like you?” Dedue asked. He’d been so quiet Felix had most forgotten he was here. A freakish occurrence considering how much space the man took up in a room.

Genevieve looked down at her hands and shook her head. “No. I was the only one who survived it.” She breathed in a shaky breath. “I’m always the only one who survives it.”

It went silent in the room. The rumors of House Bartels were much sharper when someone had actually fought the Death Knight and known what he could do.

Mercedes had carefully draped an arm around Genevieve, which she seemed to accept and Dimitri was frowning and looking at the door to the adjoining room again. Even Dedue, if Felix could read his slate face looked sympathetic.

Felix clenched his fingers into his fists until it hurt and then cleared his throat loudly so that the two women on the divan involved in their time wasting emotional epiphanies could look up at him. “And _how_ exactly did you escape that place?”

If she did. It was entirely possible she was still working for them and this was an exceedingly elaborate ploy to lower their defenses. His justified suspicion felt flat in his own head after what happened with Glenn, but he had to be on guard because obviously Mercedes and Dimitri weren’t going to be and he never counted on Dedue.

“There was a woman there,” Genevieve said. “Her name was Leto. She said she didn’t like seeing children harmed and let me go. I found my way to Goneril and an old woman who worked at the local theatre took me in. She taught me how to dye my hair and play the cello.”

“You dye your hair,” Mercedes said, sounding satisfied. “I _knew_ it was different.”

“Whatever they did leached the color out of it,” Genevieve elaborating without prompting on _this_ of course. “It made me stick out too much.”

“Why the black?” Mercedes asked, continuing the hair conversation, because they were trying to kill Felix. “Did you not like the blue anymore?”

Genevieve gave a dry snort. “Do you know how expensive blue hair dye is?”

Felix resisted kicking the table over and only pictured how the tea cup would slide off and shatter bringing their attention back from foolish useless topics. “The woman, what happened to her?”

Genevieve seemed confused by the question, which was ridiculous, but it seemed every person in this room was losing track of the fact that this was actually information they needed. It was possible this woman could be an ally or maybe another enemy. Either way Leto was a name and a person they could focus on. It was a target and Felix needed a target right now. Cord was dead, but the shadowy society he was apart of wasn’t yet.

“She passed away… a few years after the war,” Genevieve said.

“So you were in contact with her?” Felix felt like when he was close to finding the weak spot in a competent spar. He felt like they were getting somewhere, finally.

Then Dimitri cleared his throat. “I think Felix means, this Leto person, not the woman who took you in.”

“Oh,” Genevieve said, like that hadn’t been the obvious question he was asking. She looked up at Dimitri. “I don’t know what happened to her. I hadn’t seen her before the day she let me go. I don’t think she was apart of the… experiments.”

Before the frustration could boil up out of Felix into running his sword through the last remaining intact art piece Dimitri owned that hadn’t been smashed by his toddler, she added, “But there’s a picture of her on your desk.”

Felix knew what picture she meant, because she’d had such a visceral reaction to it when she’d put it back on Dimitri’s desk. He’d known it had to be _something_ , but this connection he wasn’t expecting. Instead of relief or anger, his eyes flicked to Dimitri. It had been years, but he couldn’t forget the look on Dimitri’s face when they’d found out who the Flame Emperor was, when Dimitri had realized how close his enemies were to him. It had been years but there was still a cold grip that snatched through Felix’s chest and throat, holding his breath while Dimitri silently processed the information.

It was a slow moving thing and Felix didn’t know what he’d do if he saw that broken, mad face again, but Dimitri merely nodded, and then walked towards the adjoining door, opened it, walked through and shut it behind him.

Felix rarely commiserated with Dedue, but they both shared a concerned look.

“What picture?” Mercedes asked.

“Patricia von Arundel,” Felix said, the same time Dedue answered, “His Stepmother.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Mercedes said, her eyes widened and she realized what that meant.

Felix was torn between taking the moment to ask more questions, there had to be something he could wring out of her to get a better target for their enemies, or checking on Dimitri, when the outside door to the chamber swung open. Ingrid strode in, dressed in dirtied armor and looking like she hadn’t slept. The steward filing in for Dimitri’s headless one, weakly said, “Ah, Dame Galatea has an urgent message for His Majesty.”

“He doesn’t appear to be here?” Ingrid looked around the room. Behind her was Dorothea, looking particularly pleased with herself for some reason, and… Linhardt von Hevring?

“Where’s Byleth?” Felix asked her, walking up.

“I need to speak with His Majesty,” Ingrid said, self-important like she didn’t call him Dimitri in any non-observed conversation.

“Why are _you_ here?” Felix asked Linhardt.

“I am asking myself that very same question,” he replied with a yawn.

“Lin arrived with Ingrid,” Dorothea said, “although whatever her message is must be important, because that has yet to be elaborated on.”

Dedue went in front of Ingrid and softly said, “He needs a moment.”

While Ingrid and Dedue argued that out. Felix glared at the steward until he closed the door and then walked up to Dorothea, pitching his voice low. “How well do you know her,” he said gesturing behind him.

“Well enough to recommend her,” Dorothea said, breezily. “What’d she do? I didn’t think it’d be a problem, but if she offended some stuffy noble, it’s…we have a saying in the Opera, and Gen’s not exactly front of house material.”

“I can hear you,” Genevieve said from the divan.

Dorothea laughed. “I don’t hear you arguing.”

Felix gripped his hands into fists again, but was saved with whatever was going to come out his mouth when the adjoining door opened. Ingrid had apparently won that argument.

Dimitri, noticing Ingrid, came back out, holding Valya and Glenn, one tucked into each side, held up by his forearms. “What is it?”

“Is Mama back yet?” Glenn asked.

Ingrid shook her head with a strained smile at Glenn and then glanced around the room. “Her Grace sent me with a message, I… don’t think it’s for mixed company.”

“If it is in regards to the mission,” Dedue said, “everyone in this room is aware.”

“I’m not,” Dorothea said.

Ingrid frowned but nodded and relayed what Byleth had told her about how dangerous their enemies, these Agarthans or whomever, were. And instructions regarding their underground location. Dimitri was in decisive mode, thinking out loud about who to take and who to leave at the palace. Given the circumstances and everyone in the room was focused on them.

Except Felix, who had been keeping a careful eye on everything and noticed that Genevieve’s mouth twisted when Ingrid detailed their location.

“What’s that look for?” he demanded stepping towards her.

“I…” Genevieve started and then when all eyes were focused on her seemed to shrink a little. “It sounds like the front entrance. The very guarded front entrance.”

“You still remember that?” Mercedes asked.

Genevieve nodded. “It’s… not an easy thing to forget.”

“That implies there is a back entrance,” Dedue said.

Genevieve shrugged. “Yes?”

“What is everyone talking about?” Dorothea asked.

Felix frowned. “Show us where the back entrance is then.” He didn’t know if he fully bought it, but it was better to have options, especially since from what Ingrid said Byleth didn’t sound completely sure either.

“I can try,” Genevieve said, “but it was a long time ago. Do you have a map of Goneril?”

“No,” Felix said. “Show us where it is, there. Like you said, it’s not an easy thing to forget.”

Impossible to say the woman got paler, since there was little pallor to her skin to begin with, but she shook her head and said firmly. “No.”

“It would be of great help,” Dedue added, like he thought that would help.

Genevieve shook her head sharply. “No. Absolutely not. I can try and tell you what I remember but I am never going back there.”

Felix’s hand hadn’t left his sword belt. He felt his nostrils flare. “You help us find the way in or you can be arrested for treason.”

“Fine,” she said, crossing her arms. “Arrest me, but there’s no way in hell I’m going back there.”

Annoyingly, this lessened Felix’s concern about if she was still working for them, but also increased his frustration, because she obviously _could_ help them. He was about to detail exactly what could happen to her if she didn’t, when Mercedes started talking in a soft and unfortunately familiar murmur.

“Genna,” she said and pushed some hair back over her shoulder, leaving her hand on Genevieve’s shoulder stroking it softly in a comforting movement. “What if they’ve taken other children?” Mercedes’s expression was wounded and full of sympathy. “They could be hurting like you were. I know you don’t want that if you can help. You were always such a good big sister to Richie and Glenn adores you.” She squeezed the other woman’s shoulder. “If there’s a chance you can stop other children from being hurt, wouldn’t you want to?”

The utterly helpless expression of defeat on Genevieve’s face as she looked at Mercedes was all too familiar too; Mercedes was an expert at talking people into things. Felix had fallen for it more than once. Now he had some sympathy.

“All right,” she said, quietly. “I can try, but I don’t know if I remember exactly. It’s been a long time.”

Mercedes ignored her objections and beamed at her before pulling her into a hug.

Felix walked the short distance to where Dimitri, Ingrid, and Dedue were discussing the best routes. Dorothea had her arms crossed and was practically pouting, but Felix didn’t feel like bringing her up to speed. It was a gift to Ingrid she wasn't already involved. His only relief in any of this was that Sylvain wasn’t in the middle of it and was far removed from whatever strategy they came up with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Later, Dorothea after hearing the whole story looks at Gen and asks, “Do you dye your eyebrows?”


	26. Protagonist Moves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain wakes up chained in a dungeon with his shirt off.
> 
> (yeah no, that's also the funny description)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @waffle_fancy on twitter
> 
> thanks again for anyone reading, especially anyone who leaves a kudos or a comment, super appreciate it! <3

Sylvain woke with his shirt off chained to a wall. This hadn’t happened in a very long time and it wasn’t usually a dungeon. His head hurt, but he’d had worse. The real bad part was that he didn’t see Leonie or any of her fine mercenary crew around him.

It didn’t take long for his captors to notice he was awake and a fish-faced white haired man approached him with a pointed frown that reminded Sylvain of dealing with stuffier minor lords upset they hadn’t been invited to one of Dimitri’s boring council meetings.

“You know,” Sylvain said, easing the words out of his mouth, mostly so he could make sure he could still talk. “I’ve had this dream before, but usually it was more comfortable and the guards were wearing skimpier outfits.”

The chains that were holding his arms up were jerked down so suddenly that he landed sharply on his knees onto a pretty damn hard stone floor. “Sweetheart,” Sylvain said, after he’d had a moment to grit through the pain. “We really should establish a safe word. I’m not sure if this is your first time or not but the—”

“Shut up, Gautier,” the pinched-faced man said. Sylvain really thought he looked like a fish, one of those gaping ones that the Professor tossed into a basket while it slowly ran out of breathing water, unable to adapt to the air.

Sylvain pictured Fish gaping the same and smiled. “It’s kind of rude to go without introductions.”

“This is worse than the loud one,” Fish muttered.

Did that mean Caspar? Leonie said he was as loud as he was in school, which was maybe a good sign, but someone else could’ve been loud enough to get the same moniker, not that Sylvain had ever met them. Did that mean Caspar was alive or did that mean he was dead and Sylvain was next… nope those were panic thoughts. Panic thoughts did nothing but keep him stuck at the bottom of a well.

“My apologies,” Sylvain said. “Had I known I was supposed to entertain such—fuck,” he cut off his pithy comment when a needle stabbed unexpectedly into his arm. Sylvain had to twist his head around to see what the hell Fish was doing with that needle. It looked like he was taking blood. Last time this happened was in a medical tent giving an emergency transfusion for a very stupid, but noble Ingrid, who’d gotten thrown off her pegasus from ten feet in the air. He doubted they needed it for the same reason.

“Are you vampires?” Sylvain asked. “I thought you were supposed to be mysterious and hot? This is ruining two fantasies of mine, just so you’re aware.”

“Shut up,” Fish said again and pettily jammed the needle farther into the vein in Sylvain’s arm, which hurt a lot thank you very fucking much. Not being surprised by it, Sylvain was able to pretend it didn’t bother him.

“So how’d you get a job like this?” Sylvain asked, aware he might get that needle jiggled again. “Is it pinned to the local tavern, man needed to drain blood in a dungeon, no kink shaming.”

“I can get a gag,” Fish said, thankfully doing nothing retaliatory.

“I said no kink shaming,” Sylvain retorted. Okay that got him the needle jammed in again. Kind of worth it.

Unfortunately, the blood was draining pretty fast and Sylvain was starting to see spots behind his eyes. It was kind of hard to keep up chatter, even for him, when he was getting this lightheaded. Maybe he could —

Sylvain woke up in a head pounding fog to an argument.

“Did you take that much blood from him in a _day_?” Different voice than Fish. Lady voice. Pissed lady voice, were’t they always.

“It’s less than two liters. Charsis said we’re supposed to—” There was Fish again, but he was cut off by angry lady.

“Humans only have like four or five fucking liters, you _moron_.” When Sylvain tried to focus his somewhat blurred vision (which if he admitted to himself was getting a little blurred when he wasn’t missing a liter of blood) pissed lady looked less fish like. She had one of those noses that probably got her teased when she was younger, but really made her face more interesting and she’d probably be pretty forgettable without it. Red hair in a different shade than his that reminded him of someone, but he couldn’t place it, and freckles… and an angry look that made Sylvain miss Felix. Blood loss made him maudlin apparently.

Fish didn’t look great when he flared his nostrils, Sylvain would have to mention that to him. “Why are you so concerned with the human, Cleo?”

Cleo raised her hands up in a gesture that Sylvain had seen Felix do when he was resisting strangling someone (well Sylvain, when he was resisting strangling Sylvain) and then brought her hands down again. “Because, you fuckwit, if he dies how much blood do you think you’re going to get out of him?” She waved her hand in front of her. “Forget it. You’re out on this. Go piss off and help Leto, her shit’s dead already so you can’t mess that up.”

“You’re not in charge!” Fish said. He really did look like a flopping fish when he was upset.

“I am now,” Cleo said. “I declare myself in charge, you better get the fuck out of here before I tell Charsis you almost killed her only source of new crest blood.”

That got Fish moving, which Sylvain would have been more amused by if he hadn’t heard the words ‘crest blood’ — it was always his crest wasn’t it? Figured.

“Get him some fluids,” Cleo said, less harshly. “And make sure he eats something with sugar in it when he’s more alert. Excuse me while I go fix the fucking _ear_ that Edra got bitten off, because I am apparently the only person that knows how to fix anything!”

Sylvain heard the stomping as she stormed off. Also a familiar noise. His next two fish looked… way younger than he was expecting. Couldn’t have been more than sixteen or seventeen.

“Shouldn’t you two be in school?” was what Sylvain meant to say, but it mostly came out in a slur of noises as he wavered on his knees again, reminded of how bruised they were. A needle went in again, but liquid came up instead of out. It was weirdly cold. The coldness of it made him feel a little bit more alert and aware of the fact that he was still shirtless.

“You two know where they put my shirt?” he asked, mostly coherently.

The younger of the two flushed in the low lighting and shook her head before going back to whatever she was doing with what Cleo had referred to as ‘fluids’ that Sylvain was now a fan of. Also, nice hit to his ego considering the situation. He really hadn’t kept up on training during peacetime (and was _never_ going to hear the end of it now) so he didn’t feel exactly top form bare-chested. Not that he’d ever had the kind of self-hatred and self control it took to have his abdominal muscles showing, but he’d had a little less cushioning at least.

“Should you two be in school?” Sylvain tried again. No response. “Told you not to talk to me, right? That’s fine, I can fill silence very well all on my own.”

He glanced around the moderately sized cell, wondering how sterile this environment was. Clearly his health was the last thing on their mind beyond being a crest blood stud horse. Not exactly a dream of his. Occasionally nightmare, actually.

“This reminds me of a book I read a lot,” Sylvain said. “My friend Ashe gave it to me. I think it was too dirty for his sensibilities—actually it _is_ too dirty now that I’m remembering the particulars so I’m not telling you the title. You look ten.”

“I’m _sixteen_ ,” the older looking one said and then realized he wasn’t supposed to say anything and stood up. “Come on, Geia.”

The girl, Geia, stood up, folding the now empty bag of clear liquid into a smaller rectangle. “We’re supposed to get him something to eat.”

The boy looked nervous but then nodded and they went off, leaving Sylvain in the silence of the cell. He liked this less than the blood loss. It took a lot to keep himself from sliding back into panic territory. He made his breathing slow to a steady pulse of in for four, holding for seven, and out for eight and repeated it until the panic receded.

It wasn’t long before the kids came back with cookies and some kind of sweet smelling liquid, probably juice. “Hate to say it, but I can’t do much with my hands tied. Not quite that ambidextrous with my feet.”

Geia shifted on her feet and nudged the boy who held the cookie up for Sylvain to eat. Were he not an infant Sylvain probably would’ve tried biting off his finger, but he sighed and settled himself to dealing with the silence and being fed while chained up and that was a _third_ fantasy ruined.

He tried not to fall asleep, but apparently massive blood loss made him tired, so he dozed off somewhere between the healer-interns leaving and straining to hear anything so he wouldn’t be left with his own breathing as his only company.

Sylvain woke up to the chains attached to his arm being adjusted so that he was reminded that yes, actually that was a terrible position to keep his shoulders angled at and they did actually hurt a lot.

“Thank you,” he said, because it was polite and the protagonists in _Damiano Daring and the the War of Daphnel_ and the like always had better luck charming or seducing their way out of scenarios like this when they started off that way.

She raised an eyebrow. Cleo again. “Can you stand?”

“Need a better view?” Sylvain asked, actually unsure if he could.

Cleo snorted, but definitely looked him over. “I can’t examine you on the floor.”

“I feel you could if you really put yourself to the task,” Sylvain said, with an easy smile.

“You think highly of yourself.”

Sylvain shrugged his extremely sore shoulders and leaned back a bit, kicking one leg out to get the feel for it. “Confidence is earned. As you can probably tell.”

She was fighting a smile. He wondered how someone so pale had that many freckles. She couldn’t have gotten that much sun. “Can you stand?” she asked again.

Sylvain kicked his other leg out and wished he’d done that earlier, because his knees felt like the time someone had smashed them with a war hammer and it had taken three weeks to heal completely. Slight exaggeration but still, they were definitely bruised. He was a soft and comfortable man now; it was _peacetime._

“Probably not without help. Cleo, right?” He gave her another easy smile. “Sylvain.”

“I know who you are,” Cleo said and moved to his right side putting her arms around his bicep and helped him stand after a few pretty embarrassing wobbles. “Fucking moron,” she muttered.

“Oh, you do know who I am,” Sylvain said, even though it had been clear she hadn’t been talking about him.

That seemed to catch Cleo off guard and she laughed. “Walk carefully,” she said as she led him to the small stool he hadn’t noticed had been brought in at some point. She helped him sit on it and while he was still tied up, shirtless, and in a cold dungeon, it was an improvement.

“Thank you, Cleo,” he said again.

This time she looked at him with some suspicion and confusion. “What are you trying to accomplish?”

“Nothing,” Sylvain said. “I just think we gingers with freckles should stick together. By the way, has anyone ever told you that you have a great nose?”

“No, definitely not,” Cleo said, looking a little embarrassed, but quickly covering it with shuffling in a pocket in an apron sling on her hip. She pulled out a pen looking item and it fucking _lit_ _up_ and flashed a light on him that he automatically jerked back from.

Cleo sighed. “It’s not a spell, it’s only light, can you follow it so I can make sure you’re not going to go into shock while I try to take a nap?”

Sylvain recentered himself and nodded, feeling a little thrown off. It did not immediately burn his skin or turn him into a frog so he figured she wasn’t lying. He wasn’t sure how it worked, but he followed her instructions and then she switched to him following her finger while she kept the light focused at different angles.

“Tough day at the… uh, underground cult?” Sylvain asked.

Cleo really did have a great nose now that he could see it this close. She pulled back, clicked the light pen so it shut off, and put it back in her sling. “I made the terrible decision to study medicine, thinking it’d be useful, and being the _only_ one to think it was useful, so now that everything has gone into dragon flight speed, I’m getting a little overworked.”

“So the kids your interns?” Sylvain asked.

“Something like that,” Cleo said. “You guys have apprenticeships, right?”

She’d called him human earlier, like she wasn’t. She didn’t look _not_ human, but she did look a little… well eerie. Kind of like Rhea, but less ethereal goddess holding a dagger and more toned down.

“Occasionally,” Sylvain said, irritated he couldn’t shift in his seat much and had to sit up straight with his legs in front of him. “I’m a noble, so they sorta tie a ribbon around me and shove me out into society and call it a day.”

“Sounds about right,” Cleo said.

“You’ve… never been outside here, have you?” Sylvain asked. He might have kept his mouth shut and not pressed that hard, but sometimes it ran without permission. Okay, most of the time it did that.

Cleo looked surprised, which meant yes, and fiddled with the string on her sling, which meant she wasn’t thrilled about it. “It doesn’t sound like outside is all that fun.”

“I mean, we don’t have amazing accommodations such as these,” Sylvain drawled out, smiling, “but you know sunshine and big open fields are always nice.” And big lakes where Felix wavered from looking like a drowned cat to some kind of mythical nymph depending on how soon after it was that Sylvain had tossed him in. And fresh air. Fresh air and horses. Fuck, he hoped Amie was okay.

“You don’t know what a lightbulb is,” Cleo said. “It doesn’t sound that great. Controlled by the Church and all progress stalled thanks to a secret ancient overlord, I think sunshine is probably overrated.”

“If you’ve never seen it how can you know?” Sylvain said, filing away the rest of what she said to think about later.

It sounded a _lot_ like Edelgard and that one guy… with the giant forehead who pretended to be their librarian. Actually, now that he thought about it, the shade of her skin did look a little like that, but she was way more attractive (a spilled pot of beans would look more attractive) and a little more like Monica when she’d changed into the less dressed version of herself.

“What are you trying to do?” Cleo asked.

Easy answer. Easy to slide right into the truth and still wrap it up in a way that worked. She seemed too smart to fall for the usual bullshitting.

He shrugged one shoulder, happy that it didn’t hurt as much this time. “Talk, figure out where I am, spend time with a beautiful woman so I can pretend I’m not tied up by weird underground vampires. I don’t like silence. It’s part of my charm.”

Cleo rolled her eyes when he said beautiful, like she didn’t believe it. “We’re not vampires.”

“What’s with the blood then, gorgeous?” he asked, enjoying how uncomfortable that made her.

Cleo put one hand on her hip and shook her head. “It’s not going to make you feel better knowing. And stop calling me pretty.”

“I didn’t say pretty, I said beautiful,” Sylvain corrected. She looked uncomfortable again. He laughed. “Do you people not have mirrors down here?”

“I’m not going to unchain you because you’re pretending to flirt with me,” Cleo said. Her red hair was tied up in two buns at the top of each side of her head, which was kind of cute and a little quirky. She had personality, which was a much better indicator that a girl was going to be worth more than an hour than looking pretty, but some people were too wooden to see that.

“I never _pretend_ to flirt. And I don’t lie. I wouldn’t call the guy in here earlier that looked like a dying fish flopping on the ground beautiful.”

Cleo laughed again. “Wow, that’s an accurate description.”

“Like I said, not lying,” Sylvain said. “You are stunning.”

He could tell he’d caught her off guard a little. She had a small chest, but still not bad, it raised and lowered a little quicker after that. Plus he’d finally got some kind of blush out of her. She didn’t blush as easily or as badly as he would’ve guessed for her skin pigment, but it was there—looked less like a body left out in the cold for hours with a little color.

“Cleo?” the kid from earlier called out around the corner, breaking Cleo’s concentration and studied stare at Sylvain.

“What is it, Sclep?” Cleo asked, turning slightly.

She was kinda bony looking from behind, but not in the way that seemed like she hadn’t eaten much. Fuck, he missed Felix. He refused to admit some kind of defeat that meant he was stuck here, but he still wished his last words to him hadn’t been something he _knew_ would piss him off. When he got out of here he’d find Felix one of those stupid Zolton weapons and lie and tell his husband he never got jealous of anything.

“Charsis is asking for you, one of the subjects didn’t make it,” Sclep said.

“Then why does she need me?” Cleo asked and then shook her head. “Never mind. Doesn’t really matter does it.”

Panic thoughts hit him again, thinking about subjects and who among the people he cared about (or had recently met and liked a lot) that could be, but he squashed it down to keep the easy smile on his face when Cleo turned back towards him.

“Duty calls?” he asked.

Cleo’s tongue darted out slightly to lick her lips. She didn’t respond, but turned back towards the direction of Sclep. “When you and your sister get a chance, grab one of the free cots for in here.”

Sclep nodded and looked at Sylvain warily.

“Thanks,” Sylvain managed, easy smile still in place.

“Yeah, yeah,” Cleo said, without turning around and walked out.

The kid followed which was good, because Sylvain felt his breath come out in short heady bursts and tried very hard to swallow it, but he was very out of practice with his friends dying around him. It was peacetime. He shut his eyes and retrained his breathing again, thinking about big open fields and lakes and not wells or cells.

By the time the kids returned with the cot, Sylvain was sure he was pulling off a nice _Daminao Daring_ comfortable in any situation look. Had to keep up those protagonist moves, so he could get the hell out of here and not be a side character that died off page.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cleo doesn't have a lot of spare time, but does spend a couple of extra minutes checking herself out in a mirror later.


	27. Full Circle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude and Byleth scout out a possible entrance into Shambhala.
> 
> (or, in another life... did i trust you?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again thank you so much for all the comments & kudos and generally if you're reading and enjoying this so far. I'm hanging out being a dork on twitter at @waffle_fancy if you're interested.

Claude had at least two languages running through his head at any given point and he’d spent a lifetime developing skill to see every angle and potential outcome to… well if not win, survive. The idea of actually seeing all of it, every change he could’ve made differently, how the outcome went, how things were supposed to be if he’d taken a different path… that was intimidating.

It was also tempting. He glanced back at Teach behind him on Eira but she was looking out into the scenery at nothing, silent for most of the ride. It wasn’t that Claude minded the silence, he usually only filled it because it was good to keep people talking, easier to learn about them that way, but he also _had_ to know what was going on in her head. He also kind of wanted to know if she was … okay. That thing in the temple had been more than a little scary and when Lin hadn’t been able to heal her, it had looked bad. They’d all felt it. And surprisingly Claude’s worry wasn’t only about the King of Fódlan putting a marshal decree on Claude’s head for getting his wife killed.

When he’d started this whole thing after he got Hubert’s letter, Claude had considered not asking her at first. In the end, he mainly did it because it was silly not to use a resource that good and he didn’t think Rhea would talk to only him. This past month though… he got a glimpse of what she must have actually seen. If Teach had picked their class, if he’d actually gotten to know her and had that kind of support in his back pocket. And, sure, he’d thought about it before, in an abstract tactical way, but he’d never really thought about what it would’ve been like to … have a friend.

Hilda was right, he never let himself get close to anyone, never truly trusted any one of them beyond what he knew they’d do in any given situation. He’d spent so much time hiding himself and working his nails into the dirt trying to survive on the edges of two worlds, he’d never considered walking the path with someone before.

Claude patted Eira on the neck to give her some warning and switched to sitting sideways so he could look Teach in the eye and rattle her out of that silence.

“How long did it take you to learn that?” she asked, surprising him.

Claude smiled. “It came naturally. My father used to call me a pretty foul word in Almyran that basically meant uncatchable rabbit.”

“Did it come naturally to Eira too?”Teach asked.

Claude patted his wyvern on the neck again, fondly. “No, that took a lot of training. I didn’t have her when I came to the Academy. Could do some things with the wyvern there, but it took some time to get them comfortable with it. They have to know you’re not going to do something stupid to get them killed before they’ll let you do something stupid for any other reason.”

There was a faint tug at Teach’s lips, which egged Claude on to continue. “How’s your head?”

Teach sighed and stared out into nothing again. “It’s… muddled. I remember some things I’d rather not very clearly and some things I want to hold onto are fading.”

“Any chance one of the things you held onto was picking the Golden Deer?” Claude asked, because he would’ve hated himself if he didn’t at least try.

Byleth snorted and he knew she’d been waiting for him to ask. “I know Claude isn’t your real name.”

Claude’s eyebrows raised immediately. “Do you know what it is?”

Teach shook her head. “No. Either you never told me or I can’t remember that part.”

“Nice to still keep some mystery alive,” Claude said, but he felt a little more shaken than he would’ve liked at that. If she knew that, she’d only known because he’d told her, and he would’ve had to trust someone implicitly to tell them that.

Given names were special things in Almyra. It’d been strange when his mother told him how casual everyone was in Fódlan with them and warned him he wouldn’t get a glamorous monicker like ‘the trickster’ and that people would call him Claude. It _was_ sort of his name. His mother gave it to him anyway and he’d been using it long enough.

“Also,” Teach said, bringing him out of his reverie. “I… think we did it. I think your dream… it’s…” Her eyes were bright, sincere, and a little wet. “It’s really beautiful. I know why you held on so hard.”

It was rare that someone threw Claude off balance, especially on a wyvern, but her knowing things about him in a different life felt like an invasion of his extremely well kept privacy. He felt exposed, which made him feel caged. He never liked feeling trapped, an uncatchable rabbit caught never had a good ending.

“I feel like you’ve got an upper hand on me, my friend,” Claude said, hiding his discomfort, with an easy smile. “That doesn’t really happen too often.”

“I know,” she said, with a small smile of her own. “But, don’t worry.” She rolled her eyes heavenward. “It’s not like my tiny human brain can retain all of this information for very long.”

“Tiny human brain?”

Byleth snorted. “Sothis. I think. I hope. I’d like not to be going crazy. I can’t see her and I can’t really feel her the same way but I can hear her again.”

Claude didn’t even know where to begin with that, so he didn’t. “Did your time detour get you any of those answers we’ve been looking for other than about where our Dance Partners are held up?”

“Other than the fact that Rhea can turn into a dragon, which I kind of already knew, no. Rhea’s pretty tight lipped in every possible timeline apparently,” she said, frowning. “That or my brain is refusing to retain anything I _actually_ want to remember and is going to keep reminding me of everything else.”

“Everything else?” Claude asked, storing that information about Rhea turning into a _dragon_ to round back on later.

Teach closed her eyes. The wind was picking up a bit and as Eira glided to get into a better air drift, Teach didn't even move, the only real indication they were dropping was her shorter hair rising up with the wind.

“Everyone told me I was the key to winning the war. That I’m what made the real difference to turn the tides, but I never really thought that, but it’s true. I did. I’m the change in every path I saw and I’m the reason… even now I’m the reason so many people have died.”

“Teach…” Claude couldn’t even begin to know where to start with _that_. “You said tiny human brain, right? That means you’re a human like the rest of us and the rest of us make decisions daily that can effect big things. Not to mention, the choices we made as leaders were what really threw things. You don’t think I agonize about what I could’ve done differently? We almost lost half our troops at Gronder if it wasn’t for you and I made decisions too that…”

Damn it, he hated thinking about Lorenz. “I got people killed too. It’s a burden, but it’s not a unique one. Hate to break it to you, oh great savior of Fódlan.”

She opened her eyes again and gave a tired, but sincere smile. “Why are any of us in charge of these things?”

“Destiny, social hierarchy, crests, unabashed prejudice?” Claude suggested. “Someone has to do it, might as well be people who don’t like those things.”

Her voice was quiet. “Sometimes I wasn’t one of those people.”

Ah. That explained some of it. Claude checked their course again, but Eira still had things handled. He dragged his lower lip under his teeth for a second and then said, “We all have that too. That capacity for hatred and lowering ourselves to a level we thought we’d never stoop to.”

He’d never personally felt like he’d gotten there, but he knew what he was capable of and there was a lot he knew he could have, maybe would have, done to survive.

“Maybe,” she said. “I’d like to think it was that way, at least.”

Claude gave her a lopsided smile. “You sound incredibly sane for someone who got that much information wrung out of her brain.”

“I feel blank,” she said. “Like I’m not really feeling everything I was feeling. I don’t know if it’s Sothis or me being me.” Teach frowned and gestured towards the east in front of them. “We should land there, it’ll be easier to scout on foot from that position to stay unseen.”

Claude felt a lead there and that she might have had more to say, but they had bigger things to worry about, so he let it go.He took Eira in the direction she’d pointed. They landed near a ravine, with decent space for a quick takeoff if they needed and enough noise to cover any initial shuffling while dismounting from his wyvern.

The soil was soft and Claude couldn’t understand how people could build underground here, let alone an entire secret compound where they’d lived for years influencing all of Fódlan. But, he wasn’t the one with the multiple possible timelines running through his brain, so he deferred to Teach on this one and followed her through the nearest copse of trees that lead them into the forest proper. Farther inwards there was an upturned log that she crouched down behind to stare ahead at something. Claude couldn’t see anything from walking behind her, but he took her lead there too and crouched next to her.

There was a space between this thicket of trees that they hadn’t noticed from above, because the tops of the trees were growing in an unnatural formation that covered the sky above them that left a larger void in the center. Before Claude could finish getting his assessment of how it was supposed to even work naturally (or unnaturally), there was a crack and a flash of light. A demonic beast appeared suddenly out of nowhere, rearing up on its hind legs. There was definitely something not right about it and Claude’s instinct was proven a second later when it disappeared, with another flash and crack.

“That doesn’t look like any magic I’ve seen,” he said sub-audible to Teach.

“It’s not magic,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “They can do things without magic that we wouldn’t have thought of… they’ve known this stuff for a while.The Church suppressed some of it, so humans would be… more malleable I guess.”

Claude wasn’t sure they could control that much considering the Church of Serios’s influence didn’t spread to places like Dagda and Almyra and they weren’t _so_ far ahead of Fódlan. Although there were a few things…

“Strange sentiment for an Archbishop,” he murmured.

Byleth turned, looking a little surprised, but not at him. “I think El—Edelgard told me that. She was fighting against the Church’s control, but these people have the same kind of control and influence. It’s like Gronder, two armies fighting and another caught in the middle, but humans have no weapons.”

“I mean, we have you,” Claude said.

Teach didn’t argue, but also didn’t say anything, turning back towards the clearing. She had the Sword of the Creator gripped tightly and was looking ahead where the disappearing beast came from. A shift of her features happened suddenly and her expression turned into one that usually meant the Golden Deer weren’t winning this time. When Claude found where she was glaring, he saw a figure in the distance, the only thing visible, feathers at their collar.

“Thales,” Byleth said, her voice low and more than a little scary.

“Uh, Teach?” Claude really hoped Ingrid’s warning about running in wasn’t _actually_ something he had to worry about.

The grip on her sword tightened, but her stare at the figure didn’t waver. “You know what I didn’t see, in any possible timeline? My father living. That asshole is the reason I couldn’t save him.”

Well, shit. Claude risked reaching a hand out to her shoulder. “Byleth,” he said, even if it sounded strange on his tongue, it got her attention. “Waiting on reinforcements was your plan, right?”

She clenched her jaw and let out an angry puff of air before nodding and settling herself in to stare at the figure again, with only marginally less fury. The figure moved around a bit and Claude still couldn’t see where they would have come from. There had to be some kind of entrance unless they’d created a kind of warp focus point. Which was a brilliant idea he'd mention to Lin later, but still it would’ve had some kind of marker. Nothing looked obvious from this angle, but getting closer was absolutely out of the question.

There was a louder crack this time and then another demonic beast appeared amidst another flash of light. Sometime between with it appearing and the light momentarily blinding them, another two human shaped figures appeared. The way one of them was walking was… strange. It gave Claude a chill up his spine. The lumbered movements as it swung its giant sword around… its giant sword that even from this distance Claude could tell looked exactly like the one Teach had gripped in her hands.

The fury had dropped from Teach’s face and Claude saw something a lot scarier. She looked nervous. “I don’t remember defeating him,” she said, the unsteady tremor in her voice doing nothing to calm Claude’s nerves.

“Defeating who?” Claude asked, already checking behind them to see how far they’d need to sprint if Eira needed to make a quick rescue.

“Nemesis,” she said. “I don’t remember how we won. What if we didn’t win?”

“Wait, like _Nemesis_ Nemesis?”

Teach nodded, still staring ahead, with a less than confident aura.

The feather wearing figure gestured to something in the distance, not in their direction thankfully, but in the direction of the even larger demonic beast. The apparently _immortal_ hero, villain, or whatever the real story for the King of Liberation was, ran at the demonic beast with his own sword and it spiraled outwards expanding into a chain that slashed straight through the beast… or at least appeared to be so, the beast didn’t seem to actually take a hit. It was almost like the sword went through air that was beast-shaped.

“Maybe we should fall back,” Claude suggested. “While they’re otherwise occupied with whatever that is.” A big Fódlan Army backup sounded a lot wiser than him and Teach on their own.

Teach wasn’t responsive, she was still staring out into the clearing, watching her ancient counterpart engage with an incorporeal beast. During which more human shaped figures joined them from at least a direction Claude had been able to catch, if not a specific entrance. These figures were wearing hoods, which Claude never trusted on instinct, if you were hiding your face from what you were doing, it couldn’t have been good. He really didn’t need this many alarm bells telling him they needed to make a hasty retreat.

Claude glanced back again, making sure their path was clear before he started bodily dragging Teach out of here if she hesitated, which had apparently been an _incredibly_ stupid mistake, because the less than half a second he was turned, something made Teach gasp and then grunt like a corporeal demonic beast. By the time Claude turned around, Byleth had already leapt over the log and was racing straight past their cover and into the fray.

He immediately saw why. There was no mistaking the bright green hair from this distance and judging by the size of the three mostly likely possibilities it could’ve been, it had to be Flayn.

Claude understanding the impulse did nothing to retract the absolute insanity of it as Teach ran at them, her own sword drawn. On instinct, Claude reached for his bow, but then something he’d never seen before happened… Teach was evenly matched. Nemesis caught her coming before she had made it far enough to do any real damage and the sword previously occupied with the beast clashed against its double. Byleth was pushed back and caught swing for swing, with equal force, even a bright spell that flashed sharper than the whatever the previous flashes had been, was deftly avoided.

Claude hesitated longer than he normally would have. He knew the odds and they weren’t great, also he wasn’t going to be able to help her if he was dead. And they wouldn’t kill her. He hoped.

Claude took off in the other direction, low and to the ground and when he was close enough to see Eira he let out a low whistle and hoisted himself up in one move, taking off as fast possible. He directed her flight west. There was nothing in the tree canopy as they swept overhead that said all of that was happening underneath it and the stab of feeling like he was abandoning Byleth hit him. The stab, the feeling, was emotional — it wasn’t smart. He needed to be smart.

Teach was practically a one woman army, she’d be fine. Or so he told himself as he pushed Eira way past her limits to get to the Oghma Mountain pass as fast as wyvernly possible. His wyvern was shuddering and out of breath by the time they landed and flopped onto the dusty dirt covered ground in front of the path that lead to Rhea’s house, with less grace than normal.

Claude pulled out his water flask, while he dug around the in the bags for anything to pour it into and murmured about a thousand promises to make it up to her while he set it down so she could drink—then without pausing turned towards Rhea’s house and ran. The former archbishop could turn into a dragon. That seemed like respectable, fast, back up and maybe _now_ she’d actually tell them some answers they could use. 

He slowed as the house came into view, because the door was already open and that was not a good sign. Claude calmed his hard breathing and got out his shortbow, readying it with a notched arrow as he stepped inside. Shelves were empty and the floor was littered with debris, papers, and bits of loose tea that spread out over every surface.

And right there in the middle of it, was the great Thunder Catherine, still holding her hands at the ready, like _Thunderbrand_ was still in them.

Catherine had fought until the very end. Against someone who was able to overcome her _and_ Rhea… who could turn into a dragon.

The overwhelming feeling of being trapped again practically vibrated against Claude’s skin, and for once, he did not have a plan.

Claude leaned forward, and in very accented Almyran said, “ _Fuck_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> meanwhile, byleth can hear the mental equivalent of sothis slapping her own forehead


	28. Grounded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri marches on to the confrontation with TWSITD with his ghosts in tow. 
> 
> (or, how you doing buddy? you okay? you okay buddy? you need like a break? cos we're gonna go into battle soon everyone's real nervous about how you're doing)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor content warning for Dimitri mental health issues/trauma.

_Dimitri_. The voice of the dead was not actually dead, but Dimitri could not escape it. He could not escape the final moments before his life shattered in the edges. The blood still came to his senses, he could smell the acrid stench of the dead bodies he was surrounded by as if it were happening at the current moment. He could hear his father, taken by surprise, Glenn forcing him behind the edge of the cart whose occupants had already been slaughtered. Covered and cowering by the dead.

He had not heard his stepmother’s voice, but it came to him now, viscerally. A different shade than the demands he once was plagued by, more of what he still heard now on dark nights… their screams as they died.

Her voice was different. It was kind, soft, and told him to sit with her a while.

“Dimitri,” the voice of the living spoke to him. He turned from their march, which had needed to make headway through terrain that would not prove easy for the horses, to Felix.

Dimitri didn’t answer him, but inclined his head at the sound and turned back to his march. The path they followed was not one he would have expected to hold such a formidable opponent.

He might have one day been able to get past not seeing Cord for what he was, but now it was clear he could not trust his judgement on anyone. His own stepmother. She’d caused the deaths of countless people, his father, his friend.

Dimitri had hesitated at naming his son Glenn at first, but he wanted something good to come from the remembrance of him. He wanted to honor what Glenn had done for him and sacrificed, but in the end, Dimitri almost cursed his own blood to suffer the same fate that seemed to stalk him from every shadow.

“ _Dimitri_ ,” Felix said again, sharper this time.

“If you have a question you can ask it, Felix,” Dimitri responded.

Felix’s gaze was intent and Dimitri could feel it without even turning towards it. “Are you…” He grunted in frustration and threw his hands down to his sides, a slap against the fabric there.

Dimitri remembered when Felix would tell him anything so easily. It was long before something in Dimitri had snapped. Something had snapped in them all. Part of Dimitri wondered if he’d have to live with every person he cared about sacrificing themselves for him. If he’d be responsible for more blood on his already soaked hands.

Dimitri heard Felix walk away, somehow making stomping through the grass sound loud.

A few moments later, softer footsteps approached, and yet another voice of the living, “Dimitri.”

Dedue had been dead as well. His voice and face haunted Dimitri through years of lonely, craven madness. He’d saved Dimitri too and almost paid for it with his life. Why didn’t Dimitri die at Duscur? It would have made things so much simpler for everyone. Was it really Glenn protecting him, or had there been something in his stepmother that could not bring herself to that violence amongst all the rest.

“Felix and I are concerned,” Dedue said. “You have not spoken much since we left Fhirdiad.”

“You and Felix agreeing on something is a first,” Dimitri said, humorlessly.

“It would be unwise to go into battle with such a conflict haunting you,” Dedue said. “I cannot imagine how you must be feeling.”

“I am feeling,” Dimitri said, “that even if I insisted you live your own life and don’t throw it away for mine, you wouldn’t listen.”

“You’re thinking of the Tragedy of Duscur,” Dedue said. Not a question. Usually Dimitri liked that about his friend.

He wasn’t thinking about it. He was living through it, moment by moment as they marched on. It was unacceptable that Cord had died so quickly so that Dimitri could not have at least had rage to hold onto in the midst of this.

“I am thinking of a lot of things,” Dimitri replied.

Dedue had a much quieter sigh than Felix. If one wasn’t familiar with it, they may not even know of his frustration. “Are you concerned for the children?”

“When am I not,” Dimitri said, automatically. In its way it grounded him to the present and the living within it. The precipice of slipping back, however, was a hair’s breadth away. “Considering the circumstances, I am fine.”

He would be better when he was reunited with his wife, for reasons more than of her considerable skills in leading an army.

“Are you certain?”

“No,” Dimitri answered. “But it does not seem to matter much at the moment. We are still moving forward and ahead and I have been in much worse of a state of mind and yet prevailed in battle before.”

When he looked back at Dedue, he was frowning. Dimitri hadn’t seen him in his armor for years and didn’t like the look of it anymore. He preferred seeing Dedue in the gardens making Valya laugh.

Valya’s laugh echoed through his mind and as it had done before when he’d gone to see the children, the present, the living, it grounded him then too.

“My life protecting yours,” Dedue said, “would not be something thrown away. And I do not think anyone else who has had the honor would think differently.”

Dimitri felt a growl rising in his throat and swallowed it. “They do not get to think. They are dead.”

Dedue’s gaze on him was not as stinging as Felix, but Dimitri felt it all the same, before Dedue retreated behind him as well. A few moments later, yet another voice of the living and a, “Your Majesty?”

“I suppose it was due to be your turn as well,” Dimitri said to Ingrid.

“None of us think you aren’t fit,” Ingrid said. “We’re just worried. I would be in a worse state if that had happened to any of my children.”

Dimitri sighed. “I hope Byleth is correct about Garreg Mach.”

“She is,” Ingrid said, with resolve. “She’s always right about those kinds of things. And Dorothea and Mercedes would never let anything happen to them, besides.”

There was silence for a few moments as they walked, but it was not uncomfortable.

“It’s a different thing, now,” Ingrid said. “Fighting with something to lose.”

Dimitri nodded. “I feel foolish for becoming so… complacent. I had thought the peace we achieved was truly lasting.”

“It is,” Ingrid said. “This is something entirely different. Fódlan is better because you’re king of it. We’re all better because of it. But it doesn’t stop the violence or the fact that cruelty exists. If it did, you’d have no knights.”

“Byleth said to choose people I trusted,” Dimitri said, more to himself than Ingrid. “How can I trust anyone after knowing this?”

“The actions of a few do not determine the faults of all,” Ingrid said. “I learned that too. As did many others who held a country accountable for the actions of… of what happened. And that is also due to you.”

“I feel as if you are giving me a pep talk,” Dimitri said.

“More like a kick in ass,” Ingrid said, and at his raised eyebrows shrugged and smiled. “You know how to lead and you know it doesn’t involve losing yourself in this.”

“I wish it was as easy as you say, Ingrid.” Dimitri wished he could have woken up once without a headache or long periods of silence as he stared into nothing. He wished that the voices would be always silenced and that he’d never awaken startled so sharply from a nightmare that he’d think his wife’s sleeping form was an enemy for a long terrifying second.

“I didn’t say it was easy,” Ingrid said. “I said you have to do it. And if you don’t, Annette is coming to check on you next.”

Dimitri gave a soft chuckle at that. “Thank you, Ingrid.”

“Of course, Dimitri,” Ingrid said, quietly, so that likely no one could hear, but he appreciated the gesture all the same. She walked next to him as they marched on. The way forward broke into several different directions and Ingrid studied the directions Byleth had given them while Dimitrilooked around and noticed Felix interrogating Genevieve. After a moment they came to the conclusion that one path lead the way Byleth had told them and other lead to the supposed back route.

“And you’re sure?” Felix asked.

“No,” Genevieve said, twisting her hands together in a nervous tic. “I told you, it’s been a long time.”

Dimitri sighed, knowing he had to make the decision. “We should attempt to find this back route, even if we do not intend to use it. It may prove useful.”

With that settled they turned in the direction Genevieve intended, after a moment or two of Felix trying to get her to go to the front to lead, Annette stepped in and actually achieved it. Felix glowered at the back of them, hand on his sword belt.

A comment about his people skills was on the tip of Dimitri’s tongue, but he was too discomfited to say it.

They made their way past similar scenery and Dimitri started to be concerned that as she’d stated previously, Genevieve did not entirely remember. It would be difficult to recall this path in any scenario, let alone where one was young and terrified. Then again, the blood and the screaming of Duscur still haunted him in sharp clarity, maybe that was how things were kept in memory.

Genevieve stopped suddenly. She looked around the area and then walked towards a build up of brush. She pushed some of it aside and then more, until finally a small pipe leading into a slow trickling stream was revealed. The smell was sharp and uninviting.

“This is a sewer system,” Dedue said.

“Sort of, I think,” Genevieve said, feeling around the piping and frowning in concentration as she finally hit something Dimitri couldn’t discern and the pipe retracted and then expanded large enough for a person to fit into.

A… small person.

Genevieve breathed out in relief and pushed her hair behind her ears and over her shoulder. “If you follow this all the way down, it leads you to the magic box that will take you the rest of the way.”

“The magic what?” Annette asked for them all.

Genevieve shrugged and did not seem keen when she noticed the eyes on her, nervously twisting her fingers again. “It’s a big metal box that moves. I figure it’s magic. If it was a pulley system then someone would have to work it and Leto helped me escape without anyone seeing, so probably magic?”

Leto. Anselma. Patricia. Yet her face stayed the same. Whatever his stepmother was, it was something different from that of Monica and Tomas.

“I do not think many of us will fit through that,” Dedue said.

“I did remember it being bigger,” Genevieve mumbled.

Ingrid had stepped towards it, crouching down to see the circumference and squinted into the darkness of the pipe. “Its pretty tight,” she said. “I don’t know if even I could get through well with my armor. There are few of us that could fit.”

She glanced backwards at Felix, who then noted that eyes were on him and scowled. “Oh, fuck you.”

“I could fit,” Annette said, as cheerful as normal.

Dimitri looked around at the friends and soldiers he’d brought. Pushing them all through this route did not seem a viable option. Although he wasn’t sure if that meant this route was a waste of time.

“Genevieve?” Dimitri asked. His son’s tutor stood up straight as he spoke to her. He may have found it amusing that unlike most of the staff, she seemed to ignore Felix and be intimidated by him on another day. “This metal box leads anywhere in the complex?”

“Up and down, at least, Your Majesty,” Genevieve replied.

Felix’s scowl deepened and he made a tsking noise in the back of his throat. “Send most of the troops up the front way while a few of us go through the back. It’s not an unreasonable approach.”

He sounded put out at admitting it. Dimitri looked around again. “I dislike the idea of splitting up, but if there is a way to get a surprise on them while we come in from the front, it isn’t an advantage we can ignore.”

Felix nodded. “Fine,” he gestured at Genevieve. “We’ll go through this thing and figure it out from there.”

“I’m coming too,” Annette said. “Like, I said I fit,” she added at Felix’s annoyed glare.

“I-I don’t like this plan,” Genevieve said, stepping backwards. “I didn’t say I’d go in, I said I’d show you how to get in. My father was a baker and my mother ran the stables. I have no experience in battle. I’m not going to be able to do anything.”  
  
Felix made a face at her. “You literally blew someone’s head off.”

“That was maybe the second time I’ve done that spell. I’m not even sure I know how I did it in the first place.”

She seemed genuinely terrified. Given what she’d been through and that she had saved Glenn’s life, on another day Dimitri might have been more sympathetic. “You are the only one who has been here. There is too much of a risk without your experience.”

“Plus,” Annette said, consoling, “This plan is the do not fight plan. If we’re fighting this plan has gone wrong. It’s much safer than the attack the front with a bunch of soldiers plan.”

“I get to stay way in the back in that plan,” Genevieve countered.

“Both Felix and Annette are very skilled,” Dedue said, calmly. “And they would not take your safety lightly.” At her skeptical look Dedue turned towards both Felix and Annette. “Am I right?”

Felix rolled his eyes. “Obviously.”

“Of course!” Annette said, soon after. She stepped towards Genevieve and smiled in a way Dimitri had witnessed her use on the children to put them at ease. “Mercie specifically asked me to look out for you.”

“I’ll come,” Ingrid’s strange traveling companion said with a yawn. Linhardt stretched his arms, as he if’d woken up from a nap while they were walking. “It sounds better than running directly into the fighting and this place sounds fascinating. I can’t promise to protect you,” Linhardt said to Genevieve. “But I do have a strong motivation _not_ to run into any danger while we’re in there.”

“Are you sure?” Ingrid asked. “I think there might be a little… concern given his reaction earlier.”

“He can manage,” Linhardt said, and Dimitri had no idea of whom they were speaking of, but Annette had apparently continued to talk to Genevieve and she looked resigned to it, so that was settled at least, so the rest of them could continue on to the front.

The thought of seeing Byleth as well as the chance to have an enemy to tear through for what they almost did to his son and what they had done to his namesake, made Dimitri feel grounded as well. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After they leave, Felix's attempts at civility don't go over well, as his shoving a sword at Gen peace offering makes her balk and ask what the hell part of her mother ran the stables and her father was a baker makes him think she knows how to use this?


	29. Ashen Star, Fell Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth meets Leto and finally has a heart to heart with Rhea.
> 
> (or, meeting the in-laws and how to talk to your sorta surrogate mom & grandma when you are also _her_ mom)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading! This is a chapter I have wanted to do since I started this thing. Shout out to Iz who read this over for me and also pointed out that I cannot spell Seiros right.

_Excellent job. Fantastic. You truly are a half-wit._

Byleth resisted the urge to flip herself off and ignored Sothis, paying more attention to where they were taking Flayn. The restraints they’d gotten on her after the… fourth divine pulse had failed to make a difference had some kind of vibration that made her fingers cramp and she couldn’t form any sort of spell that would have blasted regular restraints off.

_It worked out wonderfully didn’t it? Now, not only do they have the girl, but they have you as a prize as well! Your companion was wise to make his retreat._

Byleth breathed out through her nose, finding it more difficult to ignore Sothis when she was saying things that were right. There’d been no backup in that situation. Not that she could blame Claude… logically. Emotionally she felt like she’d been abandoned. Which wasn’t fair, because he wasn’t her student, he was her friend, and for how long? He didn’t have different possible timelines cascading in and out of _his_ brain.

And none of those timeline were giving her anything useful in the current situation. Specific information regarding Those Who Slither In the Dark… their Dance Partners, was missing, but if she wanted to close her eyes and see endless death, her brain was more than willing to provide it. She knew she’d fought them before — but something about this was different.

Nemesis was a challenge, she remembered that much, even if she couldn’t remember defeating him. She didn’t remember him being in the control of someone… that someone being the woman that Byleth had mistaken as Thales. From up close she felt like an idiot making the comparison.

_Finally you accept your true nature of being a complete and utter dolt!_

How did Sothis think this was helping? Unless it wasn’t Sothis and it was Byleth’s broken subconscious telling her how screwed she was.

Nemesis stood, unnervingly behind the woman, but whoever she was she didn’t seem to care or notice. She was, however, giving Byleth a heated glare. Byleth wasn't sure she’d seen someone with eye-bags that pronounced before, without them, she was fairly pretty. She had very long chestnut hair with a few streaks of gray and she had the kind of face that if it wasn’t glowering, would’ve looked kind.

“Fell Star,” she said, like it was a greeting.

Byleth wondered if there was a way to wriggle out of these restraints without magic. She vaguely remembered some tips that Ashe had given during a seminar she’d pressured him into doing, but some of them involved dislocating her thumb and she wanted to save that for later, considering she needed thumbs to use her sword and general punching of things.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” Byleth said, happy her voice could sound even with her lip split and the sharp pain in her ribs. “But considering how often your people change faces, I can’t be sure.”

Byleth wasn’t unfamiliar with sharp glares, with the look of someone who wanted her dead, she’d dealt with that since she was on her first job with her father, but there was something about the way this woman was looking at her that made her think she didn’t only want her dead.

“You murdered my daughter,” she said.

Sadly, that told Byleth nothing… but if it was one of these people then maybe… “Kronya? As much as I would have _loved_ to, that was one of yours.”

Every timeline her father died. Every single one Monica stabbed him. Every time she was sacrificed for a spell that sent Byleth into nowhere. And every time Sothis saved her. These were the fixed moments. The fated ones that couldn’t change. It was, frankly, bullshit.

“Do you murder so many of people’s children that you lose track?” the woman asked.

“Yes,” Byleth said, honestly. “Not lately, but during the war, yes. I’ll assume it was during the war.” Her kill count had gone down immeasurably since then.

She wasn’t a frail looking woman, but something about her seemed… delicate, even when her fists clenched together at her sides and Byleth could tell Byleth’s very presence was enraging her. “You _took_ her from me. She had almost reached her goals and then I could have finally seen my daughter, but you had to make war and take no prisoners.”

There were dark circles set deep beneath the woman’s eyes, the woman’s lilac eyes.

“You’re Patricia,” Byleth said, unsure of _how_ or why.

“One of a few names forced on me,” Dimitri’s supposedly dead stepmother said. “They called you Ashen Demon too, did they not?”

“You’re _one_ of them?” Byleth asked, trying to fit the pieces together. It made no sense. Edelgard hated these people as much as she hated the Church. Two sides of the same manipulative coin.

“I’ve lived in both worlds,” Patricia said, “Anselma and Patricia and whatever they needed me to be. All I wanted was my daughter and you stole that.”

“We tried making peace,” Byleth said, not pointing out that technically Dimitri had killed her. Not information she was giving up considering the circumstances. And Byleth remembered killing Edelgard, but that wasn’t _her_ life. “Edelgard didn’t want or trust in it.”

“You should have tried _harder_ ,” Patricia said with the kind of venom in her voice that made Byleth think she was going to try and harm her.

Let her try. Byleth was feeding off Patricia’s angry energy or maybe she was tired of this.

“You should’ve tried harder,” Byleth said. “Maybe if you hadn’t sat underground after _killing_ your other family then you could have gotten through to her. Not to mention your people tortured her, manipulated her, and _used_ her. Where do you get off—”

And there was the slap, hard enough for Byleth’s lip to split open again. She’d been expecting it and it still caught her off guard.

 _Perhaps don’t rile them up enough to_ kill _you before your friends arrive._

“You know _nothing_ of what it feels like to lose a child,” Patricia said. “You know nothing of us. You only know what Seiros and her cult of sycophants tell you.” She gave a mirthless laugh. “I apologize, _your_ cult of sycophants.”

Byleth stretched her fingers in her restraints, they still cramped and she couldn’t get them in the right angle to create a spell chain. She should’ve learned how to do magic with her feet.

“What do you want?” Byleth asked. “Why are you doing any of this? Why is throwing the world into chaos a means to your end? It wasn’t to stop the Church. There’d be no reason to…” Now Byleth felt really angry. Where the hell did she get off after what she’d done to Dimitri. “You _abandoned_ your child and left him covered in the blood of his _father_.”

Patricia turned her head away, so at least that had made some sort of impression. Byleth, before seeing the glimpses of herself in another life, dressed in white and navy, a soulless creature of ‘justice’ couldn’t imagine the kind of person that would help create a tragedy that had scarred the lives of so many people they were close to.

“Sorry to interrupt,” came a cool, deep voice, that set off instant alarm bells in Byleth’s mind. The newcomer was a woman who disturbingly reminded Byleth of Cornelia, down to the attitude as she walked. She had pinkish hair, not quite as long as Patricia’s, and a low-cut dress also adorned with feathers. It must’ve been a fashion statement for them.

“I highly doubt that,” Patricia said to her.

The woman snorted and then glanced at Byleth with a much less easy to read gaze. Whatever it was, Byleth didn’t like it. “You have your pet project, I have mine. That was the deal, Leto.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Patricia, or Leto, or who-the-hell-ever she really was, said.

Cornelia’s double looked Byleth up and down skeptically and then turned back to Patricia. “Keep out of my way and I’ll let you play with the Fell Star’s corpse when I’m done, hmm?”

Patricia turned and walked off, a different direction than where they’d taken Flayn, Byleth noted. Nemesis turned stiffly and followed her like a broken solider puppet.

_That is… disturbing._

“Right?” Byleth muttered under breath, in agreement.

“What was that?” the woman left asked. And then shook her head. “You know what, I actually don’t care.” She gestured in Byleth’s direction and two guards yanked her up and started dragging her in the direction they’d taken Flayn. Good. She would be closer. She could… do absolutely nothing because she didn’t know how to get these restraints off and the Sword of the Creator was taken off her person. More than a minor inconvenience.

If Byleth remembered anything about this place, it was that it was an underground maze and her touch with the different possibilities of time hadn’t given her a map. Byleth was put into a small dark room and her restraints were hooked to a chain on the wall, making it impossible to do anything but kneel or stand if she wanted to be anywhere closer to comfortable.

Her cellmate wasn’t Flayn, but there was and had always been a resemblance there.

“Odd place to run into you, Rhea,” Byleth said, casually, like they weren’t both chained up in an underground fortress.

Rhea looked through her. She had the same glassy expression when they’d first rescued her from the Imperial Palace. “I… hoped they wouldn’t…”

Byleth clenched her fingers again, only to feel the vibrations pulse back against her nerves and make her put them back the way they were. “Do you ever get tired of lying?” Byleth asked her, feeling overwhelmed by the anger of _her_ life here and the fear of what she’d seen herself become in another.

“My child, I…”

“Byleth,” Byleth said. “Not once have you called me by name and not in the way that people call me Professor. You’re always a step away from calling me your mother aren’t you, Seiros?”

Stunning, absolutely stunning that Rhea could look surprised by this. If she’d _told_ Byleth sooner maybe none of this would…

“I’m not your mother. I’ve never been your mother,” Byleth said and Rhea’s actual mother was silent. “I’m not the Fell Star. I’m not the Ashen Demon, I’m _me_ and you…” This was a ridiculous time to get upset and not hearing Sothis yell that at her somehow made her more upset, because it was only supporting her fear that the voice was only in her mind and Sothis was still gone.

“You cannot understand,” Rhea said, having at least the decency to look away from her when she spouted bullshit like that. “Human lives are fragile and… I lost _everyone_ , they all were taken from me with brutal, senseless violence, and I only wanted one more chance with my mother. She could have _healed_ this broken world.”

“But instead she healed me,” Byleth said. There was a lump in her throat and she wasn’t sure if it was the thought of Sothis or Rhea causing it. “You were so disappointed. I sat on that chair and what? You expected the Goddess to erase me completely? That was your goal?”

She’d barely started to feel like a person at that point and Rhea had wanted her to become less than that.

Rhea pursed her lips and turned her head more forcefully away, hiding behind a blanket of soft green hair. “There was no way to create a vessel that did not have some… modicum of personality and have it be viable. I did not do it to hurt you.”

Create a vessel. Byleth swallowed the lump and her voice was not even. Was she a person? “Is that what I am? Something you created?”

“No,” Rhea said and then sighed. “And perhaps yes. Your mother…” She turned towards Byleth again and seemed to be taking her in. “Your mother was special to me. I cared for her, as I did each of them, I do not so callously throw life away as you suggest.”

“Then why is she dead?” Byleth asked.

Rhea didn’t flinch. “Because she chose your life for hers. She gave you her heart. She… gave you my mother’s heart.”

Byleth’s pulse rose, but her chest, as always, stayed silent. “What?”

“You were born without a heartbeat,” Rhea said. “And the pregnancy was… I had told her it was dangerous and she was too ill to carry, but she loved your father and desperately wanted you to live. She knew she had little chance of survival and I… I hadn’t planned on you becoming a vessel. I carried out your mother’s last wish. _Both_ of you would have died, otherwise.”

Byleth’s eyes stung thinking about the mother she only knew from her father’s diary, about her father dead in every possible outcome, and she wished she could make a fist. She wished she could hold her sword. She wished a lot of things. “Thanks,” she said, bitterly.

“You were also special to me,” Rhea said. “You _are_. I hope you know that.”

Rhea had been kind. Had held her when she fainted and sang to her. She’d had tea and talked to her like she was family and precious and even though her father warned her, Byleth had always on some level felt like Rhea cared. About her.

“Because I’m carrying your mother’s heart,” Byleth said. “That makes me a bag, not a person.”

Rhea sighed and looked down, her long green hair cascading around her face. Byleth really had started to look like her when her hair had grown out. Thinking about it was… a mix of emotions and all of them were contradictory.

Byleth grunted and tugged at her restraints, seeing how far she could reach with the chain. “It doesn’t matter. They have Flayn. They’ve _had_ Flayn. Do you know what they’re doing?”

Rhea’s lip curled in disgust, it was the only part of her face that Byleth could see from this angle. “Making new monsters from the lives of the only family I have left.”

No. No. _No_. Rhea’s only family was Byleth’s family. Flayn was her student and her friend and sometimes felt like a sister Byleth never had and didn’t know she wanted.

“I’m going to get out of here,” Byleth said. “And I’m going to fucking kill anyone who touched Flayn. And I’m going to get _you_ out of here and then I’m going to… punch you or throw something or at least scream in your face.”

_You’ve matured so wonderfully in the time I’ve been gone._

Sothis’ sarcasm was a relief, but probably a false one. The last words that Sothis had said to her was that they wouldn’t be apart and that she wasn’t truly gone. It had never once felt like that. It had never once felt like she wasn’t really and truly alone after so long of having her there. But Sothis had left something…

Her heart. A dead relic in Byleth’s chest.

Fell Star. Ashen Demon.

Was Byleth anything at all, or was she the product of fate, a tool to be used to change the direction of wars and lives?

Fell Star… with an ashen heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leto does not make nemesis do the thriller dance, but i can't think of a funny 'meanwhile' note so let's all picture it anyway


	30. On Retainer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hilda's fairly routine day is interrupted.
> 
> (or, you're making me work!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TY again to Iz for the look over & thank you for reading and for not judging me on adding another POV.

“Wow!” Hilda said, not faking her enthusiasm. “That’s _really_ good work, Greta. Go you!” 

The older widow, who was probably the oldest of her students at the school, looked really pleased, but honestly, the intricate detail she’d managed to sketch into what had been an unpolished stone and was now art was phenomenal.

“I’m going to steal you for my next line of jewelry,” Hilda promised her. Greta shook her head, with a blush that reminded Hilda of Marianne and it took another five minutes of cajoling and compliments for her to realize Hilda was serious.

Hilda liked designing things, but getting someone else to do the detail work for her vision sounded like way less of a hassle. She was getting more orders and they were really close to opening up a second Artisan Academy. Hilda was pretty sure she’d be busy for a while, which would be nice because — even if it was a lot of effort — it was a distraction from Claude von Never Writes swooping back in. 

Oh, it had been _days_ , and she was still so angry. Being angry and thinking about him was too much work and such a waste of her time. She, once again, forced herself to focus on anything else. It was easy to do with so many students and so many new orders and requests for her jewelry rushing in. Which reminded her that she needed to snag Marianne before she went home and force Marianne to try on the new hair clips she made.

Hilda wasn’t sure if they were something she’d produce more than one of, but she’d seen the metals and the little tiny beads and knew they would look great in Marianne’s hair. Maybe if she gave her enough accessories she could get her to stay forever and not only whenever and for as long as Margrave Edmund thought she deserved to. 

It was incredibly easy to find Marianne, because it was daylight, so obviously she was in the stables. Unfortunately, she was also in the stables, with another kitten. “Marianne!”

Marianne flushed and blustered under Hilda’s shout and held up the kitten, who mewled pathetically in her hands. Judging by the look of the scruffy thing, it had been injured and hungry, but now there was milk clinging to its whiskers and dried blood from whatever Marianne had obviously healed. “I think he was separated from his mother,” Marianne said. “He’s very small; might have been rejected as a runt.”

“Please,” Hilda said. “I cannot take in _another_ cat.” 

Marianne gave her the big cute pathetic eyes and the stupid kitten mewled as if on cue. 

Damn it.

“Ugh,” Hilda said, throwing her hands up in the air, “Fine. But you know you’re making me a much more caring and compassionate person and I hate it!”

Marianne barely hid her giggle. “Sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry in the slightest. She gestured to Hilda to sit next to her and even though it was the gross stable floor, Hilda did. “He’s very cute,” Marianne offered, holding the kitten out to her.

Hilda stared at the mangy little thing that would probably be curled up next to her head tonight and almost refused to take him, but between the kitten’s pathetic mewl and Marianne’s cute eyes, she gave in and took him, cradling him to her chest. He squirmed for a second and then tucked himself into her corset, purring.

Damn it.

“What’s his name?” Hilda asked. 

“I was thinking Claude?” Marianne said, not even remotely trying to hide what she was doing. So much for her adoptive father training her in being an orator. Then again, she could pretty much talk Hilda into doing anything, so it had to be working. 

Hilda glared at her. That wasn’t _even_ Claude’s real name. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I know,” Marianne said, patiently. “I think it might help if you did. You’ve been… upset since he visited.”

“And?” Hilda asked, unable to reach the angry pitch she wanted, because the kitten was rolled into an adorable lump and still purring. He was going to fall asleep on her and then she was going to be stuck sitting in the gross stables not wanting to move him.

“And,” Marianne said, carefully, “it’s not usual for you to be upset this long.”

“Are you saying I can’t hold a grudge?” Hilda asked, not sure why she was offended by the implication. 

Marianne didn’t hide her giggle this time. “No. I’m saying that it’s okay if you’re worried too.”

“I am not worried,” Hilda said, jostling the kitten enough that he squirmed and mewled again until she started rubbing the back of his tiny cute head with her thumb. “It’s just weird that after years of no contact he flies in out of nowhere with the Professor, Ingrid, and Linhardt of all people, to ask for my help.”

“Which you gave him,” Marianne, pointed out, unhelpfully.

“Of course,” Hilda said, uncomfortable with the look Marianne was giving her. There was too much expectation in it. It was like she thought Hilda could be more than she already was. She was what she was so there was less pressure. She didn’t have to worry about heirs or fighting or any other stupid thing she’d thought she’d be destined for. “I’m not that petty. Can we please talk about anything else?”

Marianne looked down at her lap and then up at Hilda again. “Um. Well.” She looked really nervous and it made Hilda nervous, because Marianne had been more confident and less scattered (although sometimes still scatterbrained) for the last few years.

Marianne sighed and bit her lip and then looked sideways. “I have to go home tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Hilda did a terrible job not sounding disappointed. Ignatz and Raphael visited pretty regularly, because their routes came through Albany-Kent crossroads, and Lysithea and Leonie dropped in randomly but often enough they could usually have dinner once every couple of months. Marianne came for long visits and then long stays away and then it was only _letters_ . 

Hilda really loved her students, but it was so … boring by herself. 

“I’m sorry,” Marianne said, and actually sounded it this time. Hilda felt bad for making her feel guilty. “I know I thought I could stay a little longer and I really wanted to help with scouting the new location, but… um…”

“It’s fine,” Hilda said. “You know I appreciate how much effort… and, not to sound crass, but money, you’ve put in here. I…” _Miss you. I’m lonely._ “I’m lazy, Marianne. I don’t want to do all the work on my own.”

Marianne didn’t argue with her or laugh, she only bit her lips, looking nervous again. “Hilda,” she said, her voice quiet like it was in school.

“Yeah?” Hilda asked.

“My adoptive father has invited some suitors to meet with me,” she said, without any stuttering.

Hilda breathed in and kept stroking the kitten, so she wouldn’t do something terrible like cry. “Oh. Well. Congrats, I guess.”

Marianne’s look was inscrutable. “You’re not upset?”

“Why would I be upset?” Hilda asked, a little too cheerfully. She dialed it back a notch and stared down at kitten-to-be-named. “I don’t think any of them will be good enough for you, but it’s your decision.”

It was selfish to think she could keep Marianne. Bright, lovely, confident Marianne with suitors for miles if she looked up from her toes. They were approaching the _age_ where it was untoward for women of a certain stature to remain unwed and childless. Hilda kind of loved people thinking she was untoward, but she knew Marianne would hate that.

“Are you sure?” Marianne asked, so sweetly.

Hilda reached her hand out and squeezed it. “Of course I’m sure, but if he’s anything less than a total prince to you I’m going to beat him with a hammer.”

Marianne’s laugh was loud and musical and disturbed the sleeping kitten. Hilda didn’t know the next time she’d hear it. Suitors led to engagements, which led to weddings and weddings led to being busy with a new life and having so much less time for friends. 

“Can I try out some new accessories before you go?” Hilda asked. “You want to look your best.”

Marianne’s smile was soft and kind and her eyes were warm. “Of course. I love your jewelry. They’re my favorite pieces.”

Hilda beamed at her. Marianne was too quick with praise, but when she really meant it, it felt so good. “You also have to help me set up a place for the _sixth_ kitten you’ve saddled me with.”

Marianne looked shamelessly unapologetic. “They keep the mice away.”

“You don’t know that,” Hilda said. “We’d have to not have cats running around here for five seconds to test it. It’s like I’m back at the Monastery sometimes.”

“So you don’t want to name him Claude?” Marianne asked, a tinge of wicked on her smile.

Hilda was a little proud and also wanted to chuck the kitten at her. She handed him back to her instead. “He looks more like a Gratin.” 

“You can’t name them all after food, Hilda,” Marianne said, with an exasperated smile.

“He’s my cat now, I can do what I want,” Hilda retorted, pushing herself to her feet, and trying to brush off the straw and mussed up dirt that had gotten on her cute outfit. Ugh. 

There was a knock at the stable door, which was weird because it was open, but when Hilda turned around it was her little assistant Taft. “L-” He caught himself before he called her Lady Goneril again and she would have to tease him for an hour, he was getting better at that. “Hilda, there’s a… um, visitor for you? He has a dead body.”

“What?” Hilda could not believe that came out of his mouth. “Are you kidding me? Who?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t recognize them,” Taft said, and it was unclear if he meant the dead person or the visitor. “They arrived on a white wyvern—”

Hilda was out the door and past him before he could finish his sentence. She did not sprint or run, because her legs were too stupid short for that to make a difference and she didn’t want to look like an idiot in front of her students, but she did make a quick pace until she was around the other side of the stables where the wyvern feeds were. 

Eira looked exhausted and basically completely spent in a way Hilda had never seen and never thought she’d see Claude allow her to get to (if Eira were a person, _she_ would’ve gotten a proper goodbye). The body on Eira’s back… was definitely a body, _Goddess_. And Claude was…

“Hilda,” he said, sounding as bone tired as his wyvern looked. “I need your help.”

Hilda couldn’t respond. Couldn’t even think of responding. What was her life? Why was this _happening_? Couldn’t she have four seconds to sulk about something as mundane as her best friend leaving before Claude launched at her like a friggin’ ballista bolt. She let out an annoyed noise and grabbed the nearest water trough for Eira. Claude must’ve been seriously wiped if he hadn’t already done that.

Eira drank gratefully and breathed heavy, lying flatter than she usually would have. And the body was resting on her back and it was… “Seiros’s Tits!” Hilda said. “That’s Catherine!”

“Yeah,” Claude said. “It didn’t feel right leaving her there. Hil,” he said. “I need-“

“My help,” Hilda finished for him, trying not to stare at the dead body of one of the baddest ass women she’d known. If anyone was able to get the run on her then… wow. That wasn’t good. “What do—ugh, sit down. You look worse than Eira.” 

Claude shook his head. “It’s bad. I don’t even know if I can explain how bad, but I need… I need the Golden Deer. Maybe General Holst’s army?”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Hilda said, holding her hand up. “Can we get a little context here before I talk my brother into a dangerous situation that I’ll have to owe him a million visits for?”

Claude sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. “You know the dangerous thing I needed to go through the Locket for?”

“No,” Hilda said, “You didn’t trust me enough to tell me details.”

Oh, she’d scored a hit with that one. Her satisfaction immediately turned to guilt, though, Claude truly looked terrible. “Sit down,” she said again, practically pushing him into a nearby bench.

“Basically,” Claude said once he was sitting, doing that little screwed brow thing he did when he was really thinking and not pretending to think so no one would know how quick he was, “there’s an ancient society of people that are set on creating chaos in Fódlan. They’re pissed at the Church—which might also be complicating things by being run by children of the actual Goddess—and we regular folks are caught in the middle.”

Linhardt, Ingrid, and more importantly _the Professor_ , weren’t with him, so that was a big sign of this being serious. Hilda hoped their bodies also not being on Eira was a good sign. “So, like Gronder?”

He gave her such a stupid grateful look that she was annoyed at how warm it made her. UGH.

“Yeah,” Claude said. “Exactly. Only this time, they might have Rhea and Teach.”

“They got the Professor—I mean the Archbishop? Both of them?” Hilda did not like where this was going.

“The Kingdom Army is coming for them,” Claude said. “But they’re not as close as we are and Byleth’s on borrowed time. I figured if we…” He let out a harried, sort of frenzied laugh, she didn’t like. “I have no idea what to do.”

“Oh yeah, right,” Hilda said. “You’re freaked. You’re not brain damaged.” He was blinking at her, in what she wanted to pretend was awe at her brilliance. “You need me to get in contact with our allies and send a message to my brother, right? That’s easy enough, but Eira is staying here, because she looks _exhausted_. So we’ll get another wyvern. Two probably, if Marianne is coming.”

That probably would put her suitor thing on hold, but clearly this was more important. Hilda started trying to think quickly. “Lysithea is on the way to — wait, where is this place? Is it near the Locket?”

“It’s south of it, deep in Hyrm territory,” Claude said, studying her.

“Okay, well, then we’ll go get Lysithea first.” That would be three wyverns. Maybe Cyril was there too; he might have his own. “And we can send a message to Ignatz and Raph.” Maybe Marianne could tell a bird or something if they couldn’t find someone to travel quick enough. They were close enough, she was pretty sure, if their routes hadn’t suddenly changed. “I have… no idea how to find Leonie.” That was particularly annoying, since she would’ve been perfect for this. “But we can bother my brother into bringing the troops and really let him take all the hard stuff from there.” 

Claude wasn’t saying anything and that was so rare for him she _was_ worried he was brain damaged, and then he was _hugging_ her, which what the hell! “I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re amazing.” 

She refused to hug him back properly, because there was way too much to be done, but she gave him a pity pat on the back and then wriggled out from his too familiar embrace. “You look terrible. Come on, Marianne will know what to do for this and we have to obviously get moving. I’m not doing all the work, so stop looking defeated and figure out what we’re actually going to do for this weird evil network of Church haters.”

She glanced back at Eira and the body of Catherine and swallowed the thick lump in her throat that threatened to turn into actual feelings. She’d have Taft do something proper for Catherine and take care of Eira and then she would figure out how to give him a raise.

Claude nodded, still looking way too freaked for her comfort, but then he got his scrunchy thinking face on and she already knew his twisted mind was working up some sort of strategy. “Think on the move, Riegan,” she said, dragging him off.

It was annoying how much it immediately felt like old times. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> meanwhile, hilda's five other cats: sweet bun, trout, pike, saghert, and cream are lounging in her rooms or trying to con snacks out of gullible students


	31. Natural Charm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain learns a little more about TWSITD using his natural powers of persuasion.
> 
> (or, what do the kids call it these days? whump?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyy, so this chapter is "fun" -- if you need some soothing, please check out this amazing art I commissioned for chapter 2's Dimitri likes that he can see Byleth's face [here](https://twitter.com/qiliin/status/1271916794241040384?s=20)!

Apparently massive blood loss made Sylvain pretty popular with what seemed to be the only healer this place had (or cared to use on ‘humans’). Hard to tell how long he’d been here, what with no natural lighting to tell sunup, sunrise, or anything, and the previously mentioned blood loss. He had enough time, however, to slowly charm Cleo into lingering after the ‘did the crest-stud horse die’ health check. 

“Then my friend pushed me off the horse,” Sylvain said, finishing one of his better anecdotes. It was having its desired effect in making Cleo amused, if not outright laugh. “I can’t say I didn’t deserve it a little after that, but the horse didn’t.”

“It seems like such an inefficient way to travel,” Cleo said, taking a bite of the weirdest looking sandwich Sylvain had ever seen. 

“You ride a wyvern, you’re easier to shoot down,” Sylvain said with a shrug. It also would’ve hurt a lot more getting pushed off one. 

Her eyebrows went down, like they had a few times, when she was clearly thinking about what he’d said. For all the weird not-magic pen lights she had, Cleo didn’t seem to know much of anything outside of this… whatever it was they were in. “So you’re not using them for regular travel?”

“No, we do,” Sylvain said and then leaned back on his arm on the cot and gave her a lazy smile. “You know you seem to know a lot about human anatomy for someone who clearly hasn’t talked to many of us.”

Cleo shrugged, unaffected, but she did glance at his mouth. “You aren’t that different biologically from us, but I didn’t really get a lot of interaction with the last group. I was younger than Sclep and Geia, and the people in charge weren’t really interested in keeping most of them alive.” She rolled her eyes like that was an annoyance and not a horrifying statement. “That’s probably why it failed all but one subject.”

All but one subject. That was reassuring. Not like Sylvain had _more than one_ friend somewhere in this underground nightmare. He kept the smile easy. “So now that you’ve talked to us, how am I representing the species?”

She made a little twist of her own mouth and shrugged, taking another bite of her meal. 

He weighed whether or not he could ask about Leonie and everyone else at this point or if that was going to ruin however many hours or days work he’d put in so far, but decided it wasn’t ripe yet. “How come you never came outside and visited? I don't think I could’ve stopped myself, at least out of curiosity.” He sure would have liked to have known there was some weird sect of underground not-humans experimenting on them. 

Cleo swallowed. Her tone was droll and her gaze was level. “Considering almost all of the people that have are dead now, I think I made a pretty safe decision.”

“It’s nicer now,” Sylvain said, not needing to lie in the slightest. “Peacetime makes it a lot easier not to get… whatever happened to your friends?” He left the last bit as a question to see if she’d bite.

She did. “Not friends. People I knew. Not anyone I particularly liked. Even the ones I was related to.”

“That I can totally understand,” Sylvain said, not having to lie again. “Who sucked in your family? For me, it’s a long list that starts and ends with my brother. Who’s also dead.”

Sylvain left out the bit where he’d helped kill him. It wasn’t exactly his favorite memory of Miklan and he didn’t _really_ have many good ones to begin with.

“My cousin,” Cleo said. “She was fucking insane, but she fit the profile, so up she went.”

Up. Okay, so home was _up_. Good to know. He’d assumed, but it was nice to have some confirmation. “And never came down again?”

“Yeah, same with most of the people who actually kept shit organized here,” Cleo said with an exhausted and irritated sigh. 

“Ah, yeah, war does that,” Sylvain said, pretending to be sympathetic. He doubted any of the vampires that died up there didn’t deserve it, from what little time he’d spent so far getting poked, prodded, and drained.

Cleo folded up the waxy paper her meal had been wrapped in. “It’s all for the greater good though. Once we rid the world of the Church’s influence, you’ll be better off and we’ll be able to resurface.”

“Why not… uh ask us?” Sylvain tried. “I know a lot of people who would be open to not being controlled by an ancient unknowable entity.” He _knew_ a lot of people at least. They were all dead. He wasn’t sure if people he knew currently would take Cleo’s word for it. Even from what Sylvain had picked up so far he wasn’t convinced. It seemed like a stretch. 

“You’re primitive,” Cleo said, with a frown. “ _You_ seem less so than I thought, anyway, but your people were kept from any real developments in technology so you’re all stunted. It’s obvious we’ll need to be caretakers since humans will be blindly walking around once you’re free.”

“What exactly does caretaking entail?” Sylvain asked. He wasn’t able to see if she’d respond to it or not, because there was a tapping at the cell door, with long, varnished fingernails that startled Cleo. She immediately turned around towards a woman who… was more of what he pictured when he pictured sexy underground vampire cult. She was _really_ hot. 

“Charsis,” Cleo said, and stood up, shoving what was left of her meal into the sling bag at her side. “Did you need me for something?”

The woman, Charsis, looked like she could step on a man and he’d enjoy it. Sylvain used to be that man. Even without the chains, he didn’t particularly want that level of danger from anyone other than his husband. She had the same pale skin as Cleo, but it was more of a cream. Clearly she knew how good her skin looked from the way she was dressed, with a cleavage cut almost as low as her breastbone. 

“Mm, how much blood can this one stand to lose now that he’s rested?” Charsis asked, and stepped into the cell.

“Did we run out already?” Cleo asked, making a face that seemed to imply they weren’t supposed to be having a drinking contest with the enormous amount of blood they took from him.

Charsis made an annoyed cluck and tapped those nails on a book she was holding. “I went over Myson’s notes again… his copious and exceedingly dull notes… and the trial that worked on Kitten was with activated crest blood so that batch is useless.” She raised her eyebrows. “So how much blood can this one lose?”

Cleo’s eyes flicked to Sylvain very briefly. “He needs at least another day of recovery.”

Charsis stepped further into the cell. Her pink hair glowed in an eerie halo and something about the twist of her features really reminded Sylvain of Cornelia, which was not a fun thought, considering Cornelia had killed the regent, almost killed Dimitri, and been responsible for at least five years of unending violence and loss in Sylvain’s country. 

She grabbed Cleo’s chin with her varnished fingers and tugged it towards her with a surprisingly strong grip. 

“Cleo,” Charsis said, voice sweet as a viper, “is that what I asked?”

Cleo’s swallow was visible. “300 milliliters.”

Charsis patted Cleo’s face. “Good girl. Now go be a dear and make sure our new guests haven’t been completely fucked over by Leto’s incompetence.” 

Cleo did not look back in his direction and pretty much made it out of the cell as fast as… whatever she was… could possibly go. And now scary lady was looking at him. The closer she got the more she looked like Cornelia. 

“You look like Cornelia.” Sylvain hadn’t …. meant to say that, but by her raised eyebrows maybe it was a good conversation starter.

“Being an endangered species hiding in the shadows leads to a lot of tangled bloodlines,” Charsis said and then smirked. “But Cornelia was my sister.” 

“It’s quite an attractive bloodline you’ve got going there,” Sylvain said, pretending to sound at ease. He was usually good at reading people and reading her gave him the creeps. “Of course, I’d put you ahead. It’s a shame you didn’t come to Fhirdiad instead of her.”

Charsis narrowed her eyes and stepped closer, giving him an examining look that seemed neither objectifying nor medically sound. He felt a little like a bug she was about to squish. “You really do look like your father.”

Wasn’t it bad enough he was chained up? Did she have to insult him too? “Who you _knew_?”

His father was… well his father, but he didn’t think the Margrave had gotten into dark mystical vampire societies. 

She nodded, walking around him and looking at his cot and then his chains, then examining his face again. “We were looking for new ways to influence and sow a bit of chaos.” She chuckled. “Not that you really needed our help for that. That whole Sreng thing was… well I suppose you would know.”

“A bit yes,” Sylvain said, unable to keep all of the bitterness out of his voice. It was kind of a sore subject. Though he wasn’t sure what their influence had or didn’t have to do with it. “You influenced my father to annex Sreng?” From what he remembered it hadn’t even been his father’s idea, only his _sacred responsibility to the crown_ to make sure the border stayed in proverbial hellish antagonism. 

Her next laugh was lighter. “Oh no, that was all your people, and besides, I don’t think Marcel was even there when it happened.”

“You’re on a _first name_ basis with my father?” Sylvain couldn’t stop himself from saying. It fell out of his mouth the moment he heard the Margrave’s first name… which was such a rare occasion that sometimes he forgot that his father’s full name wasn’t Margrave Margrave Gautier. 

Charsis seemed to find him amusing, which Sylvain supposed was a good thing since it kept her talking and not sticking more needles in him. “He was part of Faerghus’s inner circle, however ancillary. You weren’t born yet, but your brother had shown no crest and there was some talk about Marcel being amenable to trading up for a better chance at an actual heir.” She sighed wearily and stared at her varnished fingernails. “Sadly, he was very loyal to your mother.” A fond sort of smile crossed her lips that he didn’t want to give too much thought into. “Actually punched someone who suggested it.”

“Please don’t say something that will make me actually respect my father,” Sylvain said, still trying to wrap his brain around the entire thing. Charsis didn’t _really_ even look old enough for any of that to be possible, but then again Cornelia had kept herself up pretty well. Maybe along with not-magic pen lights they had really good skincare treatments down here. 

“In the end, I do have to give it to Ne: the direct route to the Kingdom was much more efficient.” Without elaborating she tapped her fingernails on that book of hers. This close he could see the inked stains of dark magic use bleeding into her fingers and up her palm. “It is interesting that it happened to be _you_ that fell into my lap at the perfect time. Though I suppose I’m the only one who will understand the irony.”

Interesting. Not that Sylvain was shocked, but that meant no particularly fuzzy feelings for the Margrave or she would’ve used a more affective term. He could find some way to work with that. “What’s different about now compared to say… six years ago?” 

Six years ago, at least he would have expected it. He was expecting to be captured and die all the time back then. Now he’d had too long to get comfortable and happy and not assume something terrible was waiting around the corner to hit him with a dining chair. 

Charsis’s eyes were teal and beautiful and there was a sharp sting in them, that sweet venom again. “Six years ago, your Goddess-spawn lead group of war mongers killed off our best people,” she said. The sharpness in her eyes shifted to a brighter amusement as she chuckled. “Thales died without even _being_ himself.” She walked around him again, this time looking him up and down for more than his face. He wished he was wearing a shirt. “I suppose the power vacuum has been a setback. I was never a particular fan of his obsession with the specific route of attack that used the Empire. It wasn’t that compelling or effective, really. A softer, more deft hand would’ve created a true challenge.” 

That was a lot of things to take in. Mostly Sylvain thought she was nuts to think the Empire wasn’t effective. It had been. At least until the Professor and Dimitri had come back. Sylvain remembered the years of struggle before them. The time before the hope. What did these people have to do with that and _why_? 

“I feel like I would’ve remembered if there was a spawn of the Goddess leading,” Sylvain said. Or at least Ignatz would’ve immediately come to their side to ask her to pose for pictures. If it was a her. Were there male Goddess-spawn? What the hell was a Goddess-spawn?

Charsis let out a long and disappointed sigh. “I keep forgetting you little ants are so stupid.” She touched her fingers to Sylvain’s face, drawing one of her nails down the side of his cheek and following its trail with her eyes. Sylvain did not flinch, but it was a near thing. Her mouth curled around another fond smile. “You had their Nab influence in every step of your lives, the war included. Sometimes I wonder what you’d have been if they hadn’t clipped your wings so often.”

None of that made any sense, but Sylvain was still a fan of the talking and not blood taking, so he tried to fan her on. She seemed like the type that loved hearing herself talk. That was fine by him. “You _weren’t_ sowing chaos to clip our wings?”

Charsis scoffed. “Honestly, you’re useless. The Nabs, Seiros specifically, have you neutered. Taking you out completely of the equation would be fine, but but once we raze their influence from this land and clear the stench, you’ll be… useful for some things.”

Sylvain missed the venom, because he did not appreciate the way she was looking at him now. He wasn’t sure if it was the familiarity of an older woman looking at him like a stud horse or the fact that she also kind of was looking at him like he was a slab of meat about to be taken in for further butchering.

“Of course, _you’ll_ be useful now,” she added. 

Charsis flipped her book open. The pages were thicker than Sylvain normally saw but well worn and stained around the edges. The tiny bit of writing he could make out was pretty much gibberish, so Sylvain figured it was either written in vampirian or his eyesight was getting worse at the most inconvenient time. 

Charsis frowned. “It’s been so long since I’ve done this,” she said, sounding a little surprised at that. She put the book down on the cot next to him and stepped closer. Then she lifted her ink stained fingers, darker than he’d ever seen on a magic user—it made her look like her fingers were decaying beneath the painted nails. She took one of those long varnished nails and pressed it against the vein at Sylvain’s arm. She didn’t scrape, so much as press. Then the pressing felt like it was going _into_ his actual arm, but when he looked at it, the nail was still on the skin and not in it. She slowly brought her nail up the length of the vein she’d started with until it was at the bend in his elbow. The burning path of slicing hot pain localized to the places her nail touched at first and then started spreading below the first touch and down towards the veins in his wrist. Then the pain shot back up again, hot and acidic, meeting where her nail was now trailing over his bicep. 

Sylvain could hear roaring behind his ears. He’d gotten really good at a really young age at keeping his mouth shut when he was in pain, but this woman probably could’ve taught his brother a thing or two, because Sylvain almost bit his tongue clean off trying to keep from screaming as her nail reached his shoulder. It felt like a tiny stream of lava from Ailell crawling underneath his skin. It spread from his forearm and then sharpened and slithered to her finger’s path touching the tip of his collarbone now and then back again. Struggling against his restraints did nothing; they felt somehow tighter than before Cleo had loosened them earlier.

And Charsis went, so fucking slowly, giving whatever magic she was working time to shoot down his arm, making his hand tremble and then back up again to the inches of progress she’d made across his chest. 

All the while, her face was serene, like causing pain was a relaxing trip of the sauna. She calmly kept going at the same glacial speed until beneath the pain, Sylvain felt the familiar pulsating burst of unique magical energy that his stupid fucking crest had saddled him with, rushing through his system, with no real outlet. 

It was too much to hope for that it would break his restraints, but it merely paused the agony for a second before it all came back in one overwhelming wave.

The only upside was he didn’t even notice the needle this time.

Sylvain barely noticed anything at all until Charsis was humming happily to herself. “I really missed doing that,” she said, but didn’t seem to be looking for a response, which was good because for once Sylvain wasn’t going to be able to say anything.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> somewhere in varley, bernadetta gets a steamy idea for a new novel about a hot guy chained up and shirtless getting tortured by a hot lady, and isn't sure why


	32. A Job to Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leonie is reunited with Caspar and Ashe.
> 
> (or, someone is buying leonie a beer after this)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again ty to Iz for looking over the last few chapters.

Now Leonie _really_ needed a drink. Her head itched like crazy. It had been at least a week since she’d had time to touch up the shave. She wasn’t sure how much more than a week it had been, considering she had been out for at least some of the transport and after biting the ear off that guard, out again for some more time. There’d been some poking and prodding and so-called medical tests and Leonie really enjoyed the look on that specific guy’s face when she snapped her teeth at him, but other than that it was difficult to nail down how long she’d been here. And wherever here was.

All she knew was that most, if not all, of her crew was dead. Axel and Josie might have gotten away (she hoped they did), but she hadn’t been sure if Theo was alive on the field and during one of those poking and prodding sessions, she’d heard Bert screaming… and then stop screaming and it wasn’t hard to put those puzzle pieces together.

Caspar was alive at least. She only knew that because they’d shoved her in a cell with him and she could see his chest rise and fall as he slept. Leonie hadn’t tried to wake him up yet. She didn't want to hear if Ashe was dead too.

Sylvain was also probably done for.

And even with all that, her mind didn’t focus on Tom who had been her gateway between being mentored and being a mentor, how she’d never hear Axel and Bert snickering over some inside joke again, how Jules would never get to call her 'boss’ with a sarcastic twist of his mouth, or that she’d never finish getting Theo to open up. No, all her mind could think about was Lorenz.

She never had the chance to give him back his stupid fancy handkerchief.

Caspar blinked his eyes open, before Leonie could mull over on that much longer or slide into thinking about how she’d never gotten to say goodbye to Jeralt either. “Hey,” she said.

He looked at her, blinking more and weirdly silent until, he familiarly and loudly said, “Leonie?!”

“Yep,” Leonie said. What more was there to say?

“What are you… oh man, did they get you too?” He looked like he wanted to punch the wall, but his arms were behind his back. He was pretty banged up and bruised too.

“You okay?” Leonie asked, because if he was all that was left of her crew, she was going to do whatever she could to take care of him, even if that amounted to jack shit. Ugh she hoped Jack was okay. Losing two horses to insane dark magic users was too much.

Caspar shot a look at the door. “Yeah. They keep dragging Ashe off for tests and I keep trying to stop them but I’m not strong enough.”

“You must be kinda strong if they tied you up like that,” Leonie said. So Ashe wasn’t dead. Probably. Who knew? Bert had gone in for what they called tests too.

Caspar didn’t take the praise. How long had _he_ been here? “Is anyone else here?”

Leonie rested her head against the stone wall and pitched it towards the stone ceiling. It was her job to protect her people. Her job to watch out for her crew. Her job to deliver the bad news when she failed at all the other jobs. “Yeah, but probably not anymore. I think… I think Josie and Axel got away.”

The noise Caspar made was gonna haunt her for however much longer she lived. It wasn’t a laugh, but it wasn’t not one. “Yeah. Yeah.”

She’d been thinking about Lorenz, but how many people had Caspar been thinking about?

The door to the cell creaked open and Leonie dropped her head to watch them drag Ashe in and pretty much flop him unceremoniously on the floor. He wasn’t dead, but he didn’t look great either. If he threw up in here it would somehow manage to make this situation worse, which was impressive, since she didn’t think that was possible.

The cell door slammed closed again and Caspar practically hovered off his seat, dragging the chains he was restrained with as far as they would go, which was _almost_ as far as Ashe. Leonie moved from her seat on the floor and gently nudged Ashe with her foot. “You in there?”

“Leonie?” Ashe asked, looking up at her blearily.

“Are you okay?” Caspar asked.

Ashe nodded. “They seem preoccupied by something. I couldn’t figure out what. They did… I don’t know what they did but it didn’t feel great. I couldn’t get at any of the medical tools without them noticing. If I had a _distraction_ maybe…”

“Why do you need med tools?” Leonie asked.

It seemed to remind both of them she was in the cell. Caspar stood up and looked over the cell door through the barred window and then sat down again. “Ashe is going to bust us out of here.”

“If I can get something to do it with,” Ashe said, miserably.

“You can pick locks?” Leonie asked and Ashe nodded, dragging himself to a sitting position and looking nauseated all the while. Caspar reached out enough so Ashe could lean back against his legs. “What do you need to do it?”

Caspar looked at her and that lost expression started to steel itself. He thought she could figure this out and get them out of here, because that was her job. She really didn’t want to disappoint him.

“Ah. Um.” Ashe fumbled for a moment and held up two fingers slightly apart. “Something this long, preferably metal, even better if there’s any kind of angled tip at the end. Caspar and I were able to get something thin, but it’s not strong enough for me to get the lock loose by itself.”

Jeralt had taught Leonie that in any situation, be it hunting, fighting, or even chores in the school yard, paying attention was what kept you alive. That was second nature to her now, so she only had to take a moment to recall the different things she’d seen during however long her time here was. “Like a belt prong?”

Ashe seemed to think that over. “Yeah I think that would work.” He looked at Leonie’s waist. “You… don’t have a belt.”

“No, but the guards do,” Leonie said. “Think you could get it with a distraction?”

“I think they’d notice their entire belt missing,” Ashe said. He sounded less nauseated, but didn’t sound like he was getting what she was suggesting.

Leonie looked at Caspar. “Think you could break the buckle off a belt?”

“Oh heck yeah,” Caspar said, with a grin that made Leonie feel a little lighter… not much, but a little. Part of her knew if this worked, she’d get to confirm whether or not the rest of those names were dead or not.

Didn’t mean she wouldn’t give it her all though.

“How are we supposed to get them close enough to pull this off?” Ashe said, looking perplexed at the both of them.

Leonie smiled, mirthlessly, and then cleared her throat. And then started yelling at the top of her lungs the _most_ obnoxious drinking song she knew.

“Oh, the summer, she wore away, away! The drifter called it a day, a day! A dragon’s piss and man’s right tit, and everyone shouted hurray! Hurray!”

Caspar joined in somewhere near the second verse and Ashe looked at them like they were both nuts, which helped because it made Leonie louder, which only egged Caspar on and getting Caspar on to get louder was the best case scenario for this working (plus it meant he wasn’t defeated).

On the third round of ‘hurrays’ (right after ‘she pushed him off of a bay, a bay!’) the cell door slammed open and two pissed off looking whomsoever these assholes were started to tell them to shut up and probably some sort of verbal threat. It was hard to talk, however, when Leonie slammed her boot right into their shin and then kicked with her other leg so one guard toppled into the other one. Ashe rolled out of the way, giving room for Caspar to jump as far as his restraints let him and tangle one of his chains around the ankle of the guy Leonie had just knocked over.

She left him to that and grinned at the other one coming towards her. She waited until he’d crouched down towards her, smarter than the other one to keep his legs and hands out of kicking room, but _not_ smart enough to keep his head far enough away so she wouldn’t slam her own skull into his, sending him reeling back. Unfortunately that also knocked Leonie’s head pretty damn hard and her skull rang with it.

Leonie was able to determine she’d gotten the guy’s nose well enough to bleed and hopefully break, but couldn’t recover quick enough to counter for the third person that entered the cell and then the fourth. By the time it was over, Leonie was as restrained as Caspar and probably as bruised. She didn’t think anything was broken—or if it was she couldn’t feel it, so same thing. They’d mostly left Ashe alone, who when she’d last caught sight of him had been cowering in a corner.

It was a silent five minutes before they were sure they were alone. “Well?” Leonie asked. She had been too distracted to see if any of them had been adjusting their pants or not.

Ashe held up a belt prong and some kind of metal toothpick with a bright smile. He was holding them up with unchained hands.

“Damn,” Leonie said. She hadn’t even seen him get himself loose. That was… that was encouraging… unless it meant she’d given herself a head injury and this was all a hallucination.

Ashe stood up and checked the door before quickly undoing Leonie’s restraints. She wasn’t sure if that was out of some weird chivalry thing or a strategy to make sure Caspar wasn’t the one who had to quietly keep watch. She heard the click and Caspar’s, “That was amazing!” followed by Ashe’s pleased shushing.

Ashe got up next to her by the door. He took a deep breath and stared at the lock with a determined frown. “Tell me if anyone’s coming,” he said and then crouched down to examine it. Leonie saw him slip the belt prong in first towards the bottom and then the bent metal toothpick in over it. He moved slowly, his lips pursing in concentration as he did something inside the lock he could apparently hear and none of them could see. Leonie kept her attention on watching outside the cell for the most part, but the loud metallic _clunk_ as the lock opened drew her back to Ashe’s extremely proud grin. He pulled the door handle and the door… _opened_.

“Damn,” Leonie said again. They were still outnumbered with no idea where they were, but they were free from restraints and no longer in a locked room. That was immeasurably better than they had been a half hour ago. And if Leonie couldn’t get a drink, at least she could get a fighting chance to get what was left of her crew out of here.

“Ashe,” Caspar said, sounding awed, and for once, kind of quiet. “That was unbelievable.”

Ashe blustered a little under the praise and seemed like he was going to brush it off, when Caspar grabbed him by the shoulders, eliciting a pretty undignified yelp of surprise from Ashe, and laid one on him. Ashe’s surprise didn’t really last that long and he kissed Caspar back in a series of wet noises that made Leonie wish she were anywhere else.

Couldn’t they have taken care of the unresolved sexual tension _before_ she got here? She had never felt so single in her life.

She gave them another ten seconds before clearing her throat. “Happy for the both of you, but can we _escape_ first and make out later?”

Caspar was blushing, which was a sight she had never seen, and he laughed awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah yeah, sorry. We should, do that.”

Ashe’s smile could’ve leapt off of his face. He was still holding onto Caspar’s arm. “Right. Let’s do this.”

Leonie followed them out of the cell, watching their eyes drift to each other in a completely distractible way that she was going to have to keep an eye on. It was _not_ her job to babysit the sexual tension of her crew, but she was resigned to it, since otherwise they might not get out of here so she could get that drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leonie, moments later has to tell them that while hand holding is cute, it doesn't really leave them in the best combat ready position


	33. Magic Box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annette, Felix, Linhardt, and Genevieve enter Shambhala from the back way.
> 
> (or, the flintstones meet the jetsons)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't look too closely at the science in this one. It's Fire Emblem. TY to Iz for the beta.

“Urrgh,” Felix said, for what was probably the eighteenth time, as he knocked his head on the ceiling of the weird tunnel they were stumbling through. Annette would have felt sorry for him, but Linhardt had at least a head on him and had managed to stay awkwardly crouched and completely serene so far. It wasn't as bad as it had been when they had first started. The tunnel had opened up after the first few meters into something that Annette, at least, could walk through easily.

Besides, Mercie had given her a mission, and so she was saving her sympathy for someone who actually needed it. Annette reached out to tap Gen on the shoulder. Gen startled at that and turned around to look at her. That answered the question Annette was _going_ to ask which was if she was okay.

“You’re doing great,” Annette whispered, supportively.

Gen’s face in the dim glow of the light spell Annette was holding reminded Annette of Felix whenever someone gave him a compliment that wasn’t ‘you fight good.’

“You are!” Annette said. Sure, Annette was being a little extra encouraging, because Mercie asked her to, but Gen still _was_. 

“You haven’t vomited again,” Felix said in front of them, like that was helpful. Annette was definitely not feeling sorry for him the next time he knocked his thick skull against the ceiling. 

“Considering the surroundings that wouldn’t be unjustified,” Linhardt said. How did he bend his back like that and still look so… at ease?

“Ignore them,” Annette said. 

Gen didn’t respond with more than a noise that might have been agreement before turning back around and slowly continuing on, one hand pressed against the metallic rusty wall as she adjusted herself. She had to crouch a little, but not nearly as much as the boys.

Annette gave it about ten more seconds before trying again. “Sooooo, what kind of instrument did you play in the orchestra?” 

Annette ignored Felix’s look of ‘what are you up to’ he aimed back at her and moved the light spell away both so she couldn’t see his annoyance and so he’d have less luck avoiding the ceiling. 

“Several, mostly in the string family, usually the cello,” Gen said, she briefly glanced over her shoulder again. “Do you play?”

“I’ve been trying to learn the lute,” Annette said, “but I’m not really patient enough to keep up practice with everything else going on.” It was hard to balance remembering that between trying to lesson plan, keep track of students, not murder her co-professor who was a patronizing asshead, and watch Glenn and Valya more often than not. 

“You’re learning the lute?” Felix asked.

“Don’t,” Annette replied immediately.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re thinking it,” Annette retorted, forgetting she was supposed to be distracting Gen and not herself. 

Felix let out an annoyed scoff. “Why do you always get so defensive about me wanting to hear you sing?”

“Because you’re _so_ weird about it!” Annette said, potentially a little too loudly for the tunnel, it echoed. She cleared her throat and said more quietly. “Besides, I’m not any good yet.” She sighed. “I’m not that great with singing either but Glenn and Val seem to like it… although if you’re teaching Glenn about actual music,” Annette said, drawing herself back to Gen’s attention, “then that might make me less talented in his eyes.”

Gen didn’t take the bait, either she was ignoring her or she’d stopped listening when Felix had started talking. Gen silently walked forward, her hand touching the wall of the pipe now and again to steady herself and then after, wiping her hand onto her clothes. Her war gear was clearly a riding outfit, one that looked like it was for a more casual ride than anything strenuous. Annette really _really_ had to make sure she hadn’t convinced Gen this was the safe route only to have to deal with some mysterious danger that was on the other end of this tunnel. 

Not that Gen couldn’t take care of _herself._ If she knew how to channel that ridiculously powerful head removing spell casting that Annette was not at all jealous of. “Gen?” Annette asked, flat out.

“Yes?” Gen replied, slightly terse, but Annette could tell it was probably more nerves than specific annoyance with Annette’s tactics. Or she hoped so anyway. 

“When this is over, I could help you with magic if you give me some tips on the lute.”

“I think I’ll pass,” Gen said. “I really want nothing to do with any of this.” 

Annette frowned. “That was a _really_ powerful spell. It can’t _just_ be your crest. That’s not how they work.” She’d know. She’d had to bust her hump for years to gain entrance into the Academy and then years after that to be a valuable leader in the army. The Crest of Dominic really didn’t do much to help with the actual creation, manifestation, and execution of spells.

Gen didn’t reply. She stopped at a break in the metal tunnel that seemed to lead into a bigger drainage center, making enough room for even Linhardt to stand up straight as they came through, but it also gave them three different directions to go in.

“Which way?” Felix asked.

“I don’t…” Gen twisted her fingers together and then turned around towards the way they’d come from. Felix stepped a little to the side in front of her, unsubtly blocking the path like she was going to make a break for it. The look of pure irritation Gen shot him, combined with Mercie’s approval, made Annette decide they were going to be friends.

Gen took a step back towards the small dip where the tunnel extended into the drainage section and looked around. She walked to one of the possible paths and turned around to face the small way they’d come in. She frowned and then repeated the process a couple of times, her fingers tapping against her side in a staccato beat, all the while ignoring Felix’s impatient tsks. 

Then she turned right. “This way,” she said.

“Are you sure?” Felix asked.

“No,” Gen said. “As I have repeatedly stated, I don’t know for sure about any of this. I wasn’t exactly keeping track of how to get back _into_ this place when I escaped, but there should be a ladder down this way that’ll take us to the magic box.”

“Magic box,” Felix muttered to himself. 

Annette hissed, “Stop it,” under her breath and he frowned at her, but his mood seemed to slightly improve with less chance of knocking his head on the ceiling, so that was all he did. 

Linhardt seemed to be as serene as he had been with less room to move around and had taken Annette’s place behind Gen. He was using his light spell to give her a better view of the path. “You shouldn’t discount your ability to recall. Your memory seems surprisingly sharp.”

“And?” Gen asked, still facing the thankfully less smelly route than the one they’d come from.

“Merely an observation,” Linhardt said. “You’re the second person, potentially third, I’ve met that’s been through the process and Lysithea had issues with her memory recall from certain periods due to the experimentation process.” 

Annette didn’t know Lysithea had been through any of that. Did that mean she had two crests? If Annette hadn’t seen her work ethic, she could’ve pretended that was the reason Lysithea was so much better at her than everything. Two crests probably didn’t help with distractibility. 

Gen stopped for a moment, stalling all of them. Then she turned around, her dark eyes wide and her mouth slightly open. “You know someone like me?”

“You can have your epiphanies while we keep moving,” Felix said, impatiently. There was too much room now, because he was able to avoid Annette aiming a kick at him.

Linhardt looked Felix’s way, rolled his eyes, yawned, and then walked next to Gen. “Yes,” he said. “Though she had two crests, whereas you have one?”

“Had?” Gen asked.

Linhardt stretched a little, given space limitations, and his light spell flickered and then became a warm glow again. “Yes. I spent the last year working on ways to remove them. Human bodies aren’t equipped to handle two crests, so it greatly shortened her lifespan… or at least it _did_. It was not a small accomplishment removing them. Do you feel that your lifespan was shortened since you didn’t have one previously?”

“I do _now_ ,” Gen said. 

Linhardt didn’t look apologetic, but did add, “I don’t think that would be the case, but I haven’t yet seen any studies involving crests in a body that previously housed none, so it’s merely a hypothesis not a theory.” Which Annette supposed was sort of reassuring? 

Gen tucked some hair behind her ears. “Your friend, she’s okay now that you removed them?”

“So far,” Linhardt said. “I feel my work was more than sufficient to promote a successful outcome, but the confirmation will take actual time. Which, not to oversell my skills, she now has.”

Gen went silent again, turning back around, though Linhardt didn’t seem to have the same urge to fill the silence as Annette did. They walked for a while and then came to a ladder, like Gen said. She smiled and sighed in relief and then made a face, like she wasn’t sure why she had just done that. “It’s down here. There’s a big storage facility, something like their attic junk room, right before the box.” She bit her lip, nervously. “There might be Agarthans down there.”

“That name sounds familiar, but I’m having trouble recalling from where,” Linhardt said, mostly to himself. 

Felix was scowling. Annette couldn’t tell if it was specifically motivated by something or just his overall feelings about the situation. “You should get some of Genevieve’s sharp recall that she claims not to have, but has led us to the exact route we needed to take.”

Gen glared at him. Her hands were fisted, but they were also shaking. “If you don’t believe me, I would be _thrilled_ to turn around and leave.” 

Annette pushed past Felix and put a reassuring hand on Gen’s arm, which was the wrong move, because she jerked back immediately. “Sorry,” Annette said, gently and held her hand up. 

“It’s strange how you keep saying you _don’t_ remember and then know the exact way to go,” Felix said, because he was Felix.

“This was your idea!” Gen said, looking and sounding incensed and also breathing a little too quickly. “I didn’t want to come down here. I _don’t_ want to be here now.”

Annette had worked too many long days and nights in the healing tents during the war to not recognize trauma when she saw it. Maybe they shouldn’t have dragged her back here. They had to find Flayn, but did they have to do it this way? Annette was so used to doing whatever needed to be done to accomplish the task, that she didn't even think for a second maybe strong arming someone into helping them wasn’t the way to go. _This_ was why she even considered leaving Fòdlan. 

“Felix, how is this helping?” Annette asked. She knew that had landed, because he looked away from her, crossed his arms, and scoffed. 

“Do you need to look at your compositions very often when you play?” Linhardt asked, because apparently he was as weird and random as he had been in the Academy.

At the very least that had taken some of the tension out of Gen and replaced it with confusion. “No. You’re not supposed to rely on the page.”

“How long does it take you to memorize it then?” Linhardt asked.

“I don’t know. The normal amount,” Gen said, brushing it off. Annette thought it sounded like the kind of “I don’t know” that people (girls especially) said when they didn’t want to brag and Annette got what Linhardt was getting at.

“Ohh,” Annette said. “Do you have a picture memory? That would be so useful right now.”

“That _isn’t_ an actual skill,” Linhardt said. “An eidetic memory could be, however…” He looked at Gen. “Do you use any sort of mnemonic devices?”

“Do I what?” Gen asked. 

Linhardt shook his head and sighed. “Is there any sort of trick you use to remember things? When you were trying to find the path, did you recall anything to help you remember or were you merely aware of the route by feel?”

Gen blinked at him. She looked back at the way they came briefly. “I … I mean I suppose I was thinking about the music I used to keep myself calm. My mother used to create these absurd songs for every type of mundane occasion. I went through all of them when I left here, trying to keep myself from freaking out.”

Linhardt nodded. “As I suspected,” he glanced briefly back at Annette with the same look her co-professor gave her sometimes, “didactic memory. Similar, though less studied. Generally requires a trigger or a focus on something such as numbers—or in your case, music—to precipitate recall, rather than a perfect approximation of a mental image soon after seeing one.” 

“How is this relevant?” Felix snapped. 

Linhardt didn’t look even remotely bothered by him. It must've been driving Felix nuts that all three of them were immune to his alleycat-like behavior. “We’re stepping into an unknown situation of a dangerous sort in an attempt to find knowledge of use to those attacking this place from the front. I think knowing exactly _how_ Genevieve can recall something would be relevant.”

Felix muttered something under his breath and pushed past them to climb down the ladder. 

“If you can remember other songs, even unrelated to specific instances,” Linhardt said, “it may help with your memory recall as we progress.”

Gen nodded, but still didn’t seem completely convinced. Linhardt looked at the ladder path with a put out sigh, but followed Felix down. Annette hopped over and tried putting her hand on Gen’s arm again, this time she didn’t startle. “Don’t take it personally,” Annette said. “Linhardt’s like that with everyone from what I remember and Felix’s just jealous.”

That got her attention. She turned from staring at the ladder to Annette and crinkled her nose. “Jealous of what?”

“You know,” Annette said, but the nose crinkle made it clear she didn’t. “The flirting. With Sylvain.”

Gen coughed out a surprised laugh. “I’ve known him less than a month and even I know that’s just the way Sylvain talks. I’ve seen him flirt with a fern.”

“Still,” Annette said. “You’re an eligible young woman and you’re pretty. It got under Felix’s skin.” Mercie had some theories about exactly why, but Annette wasn’t sure if they were the real reason, neither of them had any time to discuss it — she was certain if they did it around Felix he would spontaneously combust. “Plus the timing of all of this,” she gestured to their surroundings.

Gen shook her head in disbelief and made her way towards the ladder. “Well, he shouldn’t worry, because I have no interest in nobles or married men. In that order.” 

“In that _order_?” Annette asked but Gen was already making her way down. Oh she hoped they didn’t get swarmed with enemies before Annette could find out what the heck that meant. The ladder was clammy and rusted from lack of use. Annette only felt mostly okay going down it because everyone bigger than her had made it through fine. Although she had a brief moment of worry wondering if they’d loosened it up when they did. It didn’t last as Felix helped her down off the opening that once she was outside of it seemed like some sort of hatch door.

There were no candles and the lighting from whatever was giving off light was a weird unnatural shade of blue. There wasn’t much to look at. As far as Annette’s eyes could see there were big stacked metal crates and nothing else.

“So is one of these the magic box?” Felix said, quietly but not quietly enough for Annette to miss the skepticism in his voice. 

“These are storage crates,” Gen said, like he was stupid. It was really really hard not to laugh. “There were less of them before.” She sighed and looked around again, her shaking was back but she was holding her hands tightly to her sides to try and hide it.

Annette risked touching her again, a brief hand on one of the ones at her side. “It’s okay to be scared, but we're not going to let anyone hurt you again. I promise.”

Gen’s eyes were so dark Annette hadn't noticed they were blue. She only noticed now because the other woman was tearing up. Before Annette could muster an apology for making it worse, Gen swallowed and walked towards Linhardt, “You said any song could trigger it?”

Linhardt nodded. “Likely, given what I have observed so far.”

Gen stepped back again and then closed her eyes, humming very softly to herself. The tune sounded… kind of familiar, it made Annette think of baking cookies with Mercie and the smell of sugar caramelizing while her friend hummed along. Then Gen opened her eyes and glanced up at the hatch they’d come down from and then her gaze drifted straight across, in the direction Annette was guessing was north.

“There was less blocking me before, but it’s that way at the far wall.”

Felix nodded and readied his sword. Linhardt was staring at Gen like he wanted to put her in a bottle and study her and Gen somehow looked even paler than her normal pallor. Annette grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “We should be quiet, right?” she asked unnecessarily and Gen nodded.

They made their way slowly, stopping at any sort of sound. Most of their delays were caused by a creak or a shifting noise that could have been anything, but by the time they could see the wall Gen had led them to, the wall itself split open. It was like the Goddess’s holy tomb, except the stone doors had gone out; these went somehow into the other walls. And out of a small room came a pair of weird looking people that made Gen squeeze Annette’s hand so hard she was worried she was going to snap it off. 

They moved far enough out of the way that they were out of sight and the two Agarthans (Annette assumed) didn’t notice them. “Why are we loading this stuff up? We haven’t even used half of it in ages,” one of them said.

The other shrugged and pushed an empty cart towards a stack of weirdly shaped boxes that reminded Annette of sarcophagi. “Make sure I’m not there when you ask that question.”

“I’m asking you, not Charsis.”

“I thought these were for Leto?” 

Annette glanced at Gen to see if there was a reaction to that name (Dimitri’s _stepmother_ ), but she had her head pitched down towards her feet and didn’t seem to be listening.

“Who can tell the difference anymore?” Their conversation stopped as they loaded the cart up with the boxes and then picked up again as they pulled the cart back into the little room, but there was nothing that sounded important, if anything Annette could have heard the same kind of talk from the monks who fixed things at the monastery. The walls shut again and Annette and Gen breathed out.

Linhardt looked curious and Felix looked disappointed he hadn’t gotten a fight out of it probably. “The box is what they went into,” Gen said, very quiet. She hadn't dropped Annette's hand. 

“Hmm,” Linhardt said, walking immediately towards it without waiting for them to check or plan or anything. His self-preservation instinct was apparently overwritten by curiosity which was something Annette would’ve liked knowing before he’d joined their scouting party. 

Felix must have felt the same, because he made that annoyed ‘tsk’ sound and followed him, sword still in a ready position. Annette gently tugged at Gen’s hand to get her attention. Gen looked at their joined hands and then dropped her own immediately, using it to brush invisible dust off her skirt. 

Annette was about to ask her what she meant upstairs about ‘in that order’ (mostly to distract Gen, and also to distract herself, and because she wanted to know), when Linhardt pointed at something on the wall and said, “This is what opens the doors?”

Gen nodded and they both walked closer. There were two arrow shaped outlines pointed in different directions. “Up, wait, no it’s down,” Gen said. “I went up, so it's down.”

Linhardt nodded and then pushed the arrow pointing down and the walls (or doors apparently) opened to that small room again, although now it was empty and the two people had disappeared along with their supplies. Linhardt went in first, looking in every direction with the kind of wide-eyed admiration Annette saw with some of her younger students learning what their magic could do for the first time. Felix glanced back at them and gestured with his head for Annette and Gen to go in first. He kept an eye out behind them as he followed them into the room. 

It really did feel like a box. Even more so when the walls shut again, startling even Felix. The lighting was strange in here too. 

Gen walked over to a corner where there were more shapes, but instead of arrows they were letters in an order Annette didn’t recognize as words. Gen pushed one of them without hesitating. The entire room seemed to vibrate and Annette felt a flip in her gut as they absolutely were moving downwards. Felix’s hand shot back as if he was going to block her from attack, but there was literally nothing around. 

Gen’s smile was tight and nervous, but also a little smug. “Magic box.”

Felix looked too bewildered to be upset that he was wrong about something and Annette couldn’t blame him, because she was trying to figure out what kind of magic could work something this big. 

“It must be an alternative to stairs for supplies or accessibility,” Linhardt said to himself, not bothered in the slightest by their moving in a giant metallic box to who knew where, “like a dumbwaiter.” He looked over at Gen. “Where are we going?”

She wasn't smiling anymore. “It was the only word I recognized. I thought that was better than choosing at random.”

Felix gave a begrudging shrug of agreement at her logic. “What is it?”

“Experiments.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Genevieve spends the elevator ride thinking about how she could've been bored as a second chair in Rowe right now, but no, she'd _had_ to listen to Dorothea and go for the music tutor position.


	34. In the Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An escape from Shambhala doesn't go as smoothly as Byleth was hoping. 
> 
> (or, working out complicated _family_ issues through combat)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big chapter, endgame a'coming! Thank you to Iz for the beta and thank you so so much for reading this far! I really appreciate it. The comments and kudos are wonderful but I also am just happy if anyone is getting any enjoyment out of this so thank you for reading anyway!

“Please stop,” Rhea said, tiredly. They were the first words she’d spoken since Byleth had confronted her. 

“Stop what?” Byleth asked, knowing full well what was annoying Rhea, but merely considering that a bonus. Byleth was positioned in front of a stone wall and once again slammed her restraints into it. The vibrations from the impact with the wall seemed to affect whatever spellwork was keeping her fingers from creating any casting glyphs. Byleth’s fingers almost straightened out this time. She only needed a couple of seconds to make a spell. 

Rhea groaned softly, as if the sound physically pained her. She was being dramatic. Byleth knew what migraines looked like from being married to Dimitri for six years and she doubted Rhea even had a headache from a few minutes of banging metal against stone. 

Rhea proved her correct and said, “Is it truly not enough that we are trapped here? Do you also have to attempt to brute force your way out?”

Byleth slammed her restraints again, closer to the wall this time. There was less brunt force on the impact, but it seemed like her fingers had gotten closer to straight than the last time. Maybe it was the angle. Was the way the restraints were hindering her due to magic or was it mechanical? It was hard to tell. “Is it the noise or the style of escape I’m attempting that bothers you?”

“I understand you are… upset with me,” Rhea said, the understatement of the millennia. Which she’d know since she lived through one. “However, it does not seem prudent to loudly announce your presence to our captors.”

“I’m pretty sure they know I’m here,” Byleth said. She tried once more and _almost_ got it. One finger straightened enough to form the first part of the glyph. 

“That isn’t the issue,” Rhea said. She seemed like she might visibly display an emotion or elaborate, but instead she sighed tiredly and settled back into her seat on the floor. She looked about as defeated as they’d seen her when they’d pulled her out of the windowless room where Edelgard was keeping her.

Byleth had never asked her what Edelgard had done that had drained Rhea of so much energy. Part of Byleth thought the excuses were Rhea’s feigning a way out of responsibility. Leave the mess she made to Byleth (and Seteth) and Dimitri and retire to an empty shell of her former home with…

“Where’s Catherine?” Byleth asked. 

Rhea lowered her head so the canopy of her hair covered her face, and said, in a low voice. “Gone.”

A mixture of emotions hit Byleth at once. Not all of them were her, some of them were… the other hers (which was the way she had decided to start thinking of it), but in the here and now she was—Byleth slammed her restraints hard against the wall, mostly for the feel of it pulsating into her wrists rather than another attempt to make a spell and get them off. It vibrated deep into the hurt in her ribcage. 

Byleth tugged against the chain tied to her restraints and licked her swollen lip. “I’m sorry. Catherine was… I know she was important to you.”

Rhea lifted her head only enough so that she could peek through that canopy of hair at Byleth. Her expression was unreadable. “Thank you. I am grateful you do not ascribe my fondness for her to the same motivation you accused me of when it came to your mother.”

“Don’t push it,” Byleth said. Then, despite herself, she couldn't resist asking, “What was she like?”

“Mm,” Rhea hummed. She settled herself a little better on the floor and stared upwards as if she could see through the ceiling. It only took six years and being locked in a cell together to get Rhea to answer questions without subterfuge. “Sitri was shy, but always her kindness overrode her timorous nature should those in need cross her path. I thought you took after her at first, you were so taciturn, but you take after your father more.”

Did she? Byleth sighed and rested her head against the wall, also looking up, trying to see whatever Rhea was seeing in the cracks of the ceiling. Growing up she’d never thought about her mother much. Her father never brought it up and Byleth hadn’t been around enough ‘normal’ families to think anything was missing with her own. It was different now. It had been different after seeing her grave, but even more so when Byleth became a mother herself. She wondered what her mother would’ve been like with the children. If she’d have advice for the struggles they had worked through and how hard the pregnancies had been. Byleth still wondered too many things about her mother. Even the flattering soliloquies of her father’s diary didn’t fill in all the blanks. 

“Was she special to you because she was a good person or was it only because she was a vessel?” Byleth asked. 

“It is complicated,” Rhea said, which wasn’t an answer. “She was not strong enough to… I knew she would not survive a transference and so she was my responsibility for as long as she lived…” Rhea smiled slightly, as if something had occurred to her. “Almost like my child in a way.”

Byleth almost snapped that Rhea clearly didn’t know what motherhood felt like and that Byleth would never so casually refer to her children like that, but she refused to mention them in this place. Even thinking of Glenn and Valya was making her ribs ache even where they weren’t injured.

“She loved you before she even met you,” Rhea offered her, like it was enough. “She made a true sacrifice to give you a real chance.”

“As a person or as a vessel?” Byleth asked.

Unsurprisingly Rhea was silent and Byleth was too tired and had bigger things to deal with to keep pressing.

Byleth reconsidered her options. Maybe she did need to dislocate her thumbs to get the restraints off. Or if she only dislocated one thumb and could get that restraint off manually, she could work a spell to get the other restraint and then heal herself from there. Byleth was contemplating which hand would work better when the cell door clanked open. 

On instinct, Byleth tried to pull her arms forward to get into a ready position, but the restraints made it so all she did was strain her shoulders.

It didn’t matter, because the person who had opened the gate wasn’t an Agarthan. “Ashe?” 

“I knew you’d find us,” Ashe said, grinning at her.

“I think you found me.” Byleth turned slightly and held her restraints up to him automatically. Judging by how he looked and what he was using to pick the lock of her restraints, she didn’t think he’d come with Dimitri’s reinforcements. “I didn’t know you were here. What are you doing here?”

Ashe talked while he worked. She wasn’t sure what he was doing, but she could feel the effects of it shooting up and down the nerves in her wrist. “These people, whoever they are, were conducting abominable experiments on villagers who requested Kingdom aid. They overwhelmed us.” 

The restraints clicked and Byleth could move her fingers again. Instead of immediately summoning a spell she pulled Ashe into a hug. “Did I ever tell you that you were my favorite student?”

Ashe laughed at that and took the hug better than Ingrid had. She looked him over and summoned a healing spell to take care of anything not superficial. 

Ashe smiled warmly at her. “Thanks.”

Byleth was about to heal herself since Rhea had looked physically fine when she noticed the familiar faces by the cell doors. Ashe’s “us” was apparently Leonie and Caspar. Byleth resisted the impulse to hug them too. The visions from the temple must have scrambled her brain even more than she thought, because she could have sworn Caspar hadn’t survived the war.

“I would appreciate assistance as well,” Rhea said, pitifully but somehow still managing to sound a little condescending. 

Ashe, noticing Rhea now, went towards her. Leonie was holding herself at an angle where she could look in and still see behind her. It was a watchful stance Byleth remembered learning from her father. She and Leonie had never been close. It hadn’t bothered her before, but now she knew glimpses of what it could have been like and the missed chances stung.

Byleth came towards her with a hand out, to offer healing. “Anything hindering?”

Leonie shook her head. “Nearly knocked myself out with one maneuver, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. Nothing’s broken or slowing me down.” 

She didn’t seem like she was putting on a front. Capable Leonie. “Love the hair,” Byleth said, smiling a little. 

Leonie smirked. “Likewise.”

Caspar was still outside the cell. Byleth couldn’t tell if he was nervous about where he was, her being here, or Rhea — but it was potentially all three. He seemed to be watching Ashe like a hawk though. But not in a threatening way.

“Hey Caspar,” Byleth offered. “Mind if I heal that?” she asked, gesturing to his arm. 

“Yeah, all right,” Caspar said, stiffly. She didn’t waste time and like Ashe, focused on anything not superficial. She needed to conserve her energy to get them out of here. Caspar tensed when she touched him, but he didn’t move away. 

Byleth looked up at Caspar as she let go of his arm, satisfied. “Thanks for the rescue.”

He looked a little more relaxed after that. Not by much, but she couldn’t blame him. Byleth knew what she was like in battle. Ashen Demon hadn’t exactly been an ironic nickname.

“We’re not done with the escape or rescue,” Leonie said. “Any chance you know how to get out of here?”

“Yes, but I’m not leaving,” Byleth said, putting a hand on her ribs to alleviate the pinching that was too close to a break to not slow her down without healing.

“You’re going to fight them all barehanded?” Caspar asked. He sounded a little impressed.

“No,” Byleth said and then shrugged. It wasn’t like she had a weapon right now. “Maybe. Flayn’s here. I have to get her out.”

“That’s fine by me,” Leonie said. “We’re still trying to find—”

She was cut off as Rhea’s restraints were removed and she lifted herself up to standing. The broken, tired woman from a few moments ago had been replaced by something else. Byleth couldn’t help remembering flashes of mad Seiros burning cities in another life. Their eyes shared the same sort of fervor. Byleth wondered if her own eyes looked like that when she’d been… when the other her had been no more than a creature of destruction.

“We must find Flayn and punish these… these treacherous snakes,” Rhea said.

“Not to disagree with you,” Leonie said, “but considering all of us came here shackled I think we should focus on getting our people and getting out, rather than on revenge.”

“Leonie’s right,” Byleth said, hating that Leonie was right and trying to ignore Leonie’s surprise when she said it. “Dimitri should be coming soon with an army, so we’ll have a solid distraction. For now we need to focus on getting Flayn.”

“Someone’s coming,” Leonie said, suddenly, and sure enough someone was headed towards them.

Byleth didn’t even think about it. She moved out of the cell, past Caspar and ran at the person before they had a chance to react. Byleth led with the palm of her hand, slamming the hardest part into their larynx so they couldn’t yell any warnings and then used the leverage from that move and the full weight of her body to bring them to the ground. She put her knee on their neck and shifted her hips forward so that the brunt of her leg was pressing down, until they dropped completely and went lax. Byleth debated killing them (a debate she didn’t used to have) but now that they were out, it seemed excessive. 

“Whoa,” Caspar said, somewhere behind her and she heard Leonie’s grunt of agreement. 

“See,” Ashe said to them, sounding a little smug. 

Byleth took a sword off the unconscious body and checked for anything else useful, she found a key, a vulnerary, and strangely a rusted knife. She got to her feet and held the sword out for Leonie who took it and then tossed the vulnerary to Caspar, and the key to Ashe.

“Any chance my luck has turned and that is a master key?” Byleth asked him.

Ashe shook his head. “No, but it’s possible it still works for other cell doors. We should take it anyway. Do you know where they’re keeping Flayn?”

“That way,” Byleth said, pointing down the hall. She didn’t remember this place much from her visions of other selves that were still fading from her if she focused on them too hard. Byleth had made note of every step when she’d come in and she’d paid close attention to the direction they’d taken Flayn in.

She made a glyph with her fingers, if only to prove that she could, and didn’t release the spell. It made her feel better, and so did having people she trusted at her back (or at least one person she trusted, and two other people she trusted in another life). They were able to make it down most of the hall without running into much trouble. The few Agarthans that crossed their paths didn’t get a chance to say anything to alert of their presence now that Leonie had a weapon and Byleth had her spellcasting back. Caspar’s war cry as he threw himself into an unarmed fight alongside them made that moot. 

“Keep it down,” Leonie told Caspar, after the first one.

He grinned, but seemed a little bashful about it. “Sorry.”

“He’s working on it,” Ashe said, sounding more supportive than anything else. Byleth raised an eyebrow at him and he smiled and shrugged. She supposed she’d ask him later. They had to keep on.

They found Seteth before Flayn, which Byleth should have, but had not expected. “Byleth? Rhea?” he asked, looking in much better shape than his daughter had been when she’d seen her last. He couldn’t have been here long. Seteth had seen her off with an unsubtle look of disapproval at her traveling companion less than a month ago. 

“Seteth,” Rhea said, sounding relieved.

“Cichol,” Byleth said, casually, as Ashe worked the door open. 

Seteth stared at her. She’d known him long enough to read by now, but he didn’t seem surprised or upset, there was only a slight eyebrow raise affecting his calm. He looked at Rhea and said, “So I see you’ve finally talked.”

“This isn’t the time,” Rhea said and Byleth hated agreeing with her. It was never the time. There was never enough time.

She swallowed past that thought and waited until the door had swung open. “Flayn’s here.”

“What?” Seteth lost his composure immediately and looked like he might make a straight rush towards the nearest hall. 

Byleth grabbed his arm to prevent that and to reassure him and herself. “She’s going to be _fine_ . They obviously want her alive, but this place was able to capture her, you, Rhea, _and_ me, so we need to be strategic and careful until reinforcements arrive.”

Or until she found where they were keeping her sword.

_Ah yes, you weren’t at all careless the last time when you were overwhelmed and captured with it._

Sothis’ voice only appearing when Byleth couldn’t tell her to shut up without looking like an insane person did lend authenticity to the fact that it might have actually been Sothis and not Byleth’s compensating for a mental break. The feeling of relief mixed with annoyance. 

“She’s…” Seteth was overwhelmed by that information and reacting in the way she’d expected when she dropped the whole knowing he was Saint Cichol thing. “She’s been gone for months. What if she’s been here for months? What did they do to her?”

“It doesn’t matter right now,” Byleth said. Thinking about it would make Seteth irrational and Byleth too angry to channel her rage effectively. Seteth wasn’t a superior spell caster, but he was fairly decent with a lance. It still might not be enough. She glanced back at Rhea for a brief second, “Any chance your six-year relaxing retirement means you can turn back into the very large white dragon that would be incredibly convenient right now?”

The confused and surprised murmurs behind her were to be expected. Rhea, unsurprised and sad, shook her head. “I do not believe so.”

They’d gained a bow and a pair of training gauntlets on their way here, so Byleth had that reassurance at least. A giant dragon would have been so much better.

“This way,” Byleth said, gesturing down the hall. Seteth almost took off and she grabbed his arm again and glared at him. “Behind me. You don’t even have a weapon.” 

Seteth was furious, but he listened, because he was reasonable to a fault. She glanced back at him as they started walking in the direction they’d taken Flayn again. “Can you turn into a dragon too?”

For a moment he seemed like he was going to ignore her, but then in a low voice said, “Not anymore.”

 _Do_ not _ask why you cannot turn into a dragon._

Byleth made a face at the air and took Sothis’ advice and only asked the question to herself as they continued on.

Flayn’s cell was more heavily guarded, but with their new weapons, the element of surprise, and a father’s rage, they were able to take them down without attracting too much immediate attention. Ashe had begun to work on the door before they’d even finished with the guards, which was good, because if it hadn’t opened just then, Byleth would have blasted the thing off its hinges.

Flayn was a crumbled pile of green on the floor, her hair was limp, uncurled, and she looked exhausted. She looked up at them, not in gratitude or relief, but in disbelief. Flayn had been here long enough to not believe they were coming. Something in Byleth’s throat gripped her and she made her way into the cell moments after Seteth, who was instantly looking Flayn over and muttering a million mostly incoherent apologies for ever letting her out of his sight.

Flayn gave a tired laugh. “I suppose I can be certain it is truly you now,” she said. “My imagination would not be quite so persistent.”

Byleth knelt down to her and held out her hand. “Where are you hurt?”

Flayn locked eyes with her. Byleth had always thought the green shades of all three of her sort of immortal cousins were different. Seteth’s were like the dyed leather covering of an old book. Rhea’s were inscrutable as a murky pond. And Flayn’s were like the sea at dawn, but right now they were dim and adrift.

“Nowhere important,” Flayn said, which was not enough of an answer for her father.

“Where?” Seteth said, fussing over her. “Let us heal you. Flayn, you must let us help you.”

“Seteth, if you would,” Rhea said, and then rested her hand against the crown of Flayn’s head. Byleth was close enough to feel the warmth that radiated from the palm of Rhea’s hand, the taste of white magic lingered on the air, and Flayn’s color regained some vigor. She still looked weak, exhausted, and something else behind all of that which Byleth had never seen on her before. “It will take time,” Rhea said, frowning. “I could only do so much with magic.”

“We’ll get you directly to Manuela,” Seteth said to Flayn. “Or I’ll call a healer from the capital.”

“Father,” Flayn said, a tired, but finally familiar kind of exhaustion on her face. “Calm yourself. I’m fine now.” She looked at Byleth. “You’re here, as I knew you would be.”

Byleth’s voice was rough, thinking of how long Flayn had been gone from the monastery and how much of that time could have been spent here. “I’m late.”

“Heads up,” Leonie said, suddenly, “there’s more coming.”

“I got this!” Caspar said, clanking the training gauntlets together. “Been hoping for a real rematch!”

Caspar’s name left Ashe’s mouth in a frustrated choke as he ran off towards the Agarthans approaching them from the end of the windy hall. Byleth stood up. “They’re blocking the exit route,” she said. They had to go through them. She wasn’t sure if it was that or if, like Caspar, she was hoping for a rematch. Mostly she wanted to get Flayn somewhere that wasn’t here. 

Either way she stood up and followed, glancing back only briefly to see Seteth helping Flayn, shakily, to her feet. 

_Try to be less distracted this time_. Sothis said.

Byleth nodded at the advice, however patronizingly phrased, and threw herself into the fray.

Leonie and Caspar must have previously fought together, judging by the way they moved. Byleth noted that as she channeled an _Aura_ spell at two of the Agarthans. The white rings of light sent them hurtling back and if she’d had her sword, she could have followed up with a chain strike. 

Byleth settled for zeroing in on the Agarthan nearest to her, moving out of the way to avoid as they lashed out with their lance. Byleth took on the lancer barehanded, proving Caspar right, and grappled with them until she got her own hands on the lance and was able to wrench it out of their hands and slam the butt of it into their solar plexus.

It seemed handled. Leonie and Caspar were capable fighters, even without top weaponry, and Ashe was being extremely fastidious in picking his shots so he didn’t waste any arrows. Byleth could only spare the barest glance to make sure Flayn and Seteth were all right. She knew Rhea knew how to use a weapon and even if she couldn’t turn into the Immaculate One, she still had magic and was a formidable opponent, but she seemed to be sticking close to her real family.

Byleth used to fight without feelings and now she threw any she might have had about that into the fight. It seemed like they were going to overwhelm their attackers and have a clear route to where Byleth knew the exit was.

And then sharp, hot, violet heat scattered across the hallway and knocked Byleth off her balance (and judging by the grunts, also did the same to Caspar and Leonie). A mage with a veil approached them casually and then zeroed in on Byleth.

“Fell Star,” the mage said, with a low pleased voice.

Byleth rose to her feet and immediately channeled her energy into another _Aura_ spell. The rings of light sliced through the air and sizzled uselessly against some kind of magical warding. Byleth wasn’t sure she had many more spells in her.

“That one,” Byleth called back at Ashe. She tried to push into range of the mage to attack with her stolen lance and break off the advantage, but something about the purple heat kept her legs from moving past a certain point. This mage was pushing them back, which was cornering them. That was not good. 

Fire crackled at the mage’s fingertips and Byleth barely had time to roll out of the way as it launched in a sphere towards her. The veiled mage laughed. “Don’t expect me to take it easy because they want you alive. _I_ don’t want you alive. You killed Myson.”

 _Do not do what I know you are about to_ —

“Who?” Byleth asked. She couldn’t see any visible expression underneath that brocade of black, but the angry growl and less than accurate follow-up spell that hopefully was draining their reserves made it clear she’d pissed them off.

Byleth smiled tightly and paced to her left so that the mage would have no choice but to focus on her and give the rest an opportunity to get out of the bottleneck they were being led into. Not to give the evil Agarthan trying to kill them much credit, but they did seem to see that coming and a crack sounded in the air as lightning cut off Byleth’s route.

“You useless primordial ooze!” the mage shouted and launched another spell, which Byleth was able to counter, but not move out of range from. Byleth really didn’t know how much magical reserves she had left, so she tried to focus on getting in range with her lance. It had never been her favorite weapon, always too top-heavy and better for mounted combat, but it had been her father’s preferred weapon and the second one she’d learned how to use. 

She risked getting hit by another sphere of flame, so that she could crouch down into the mage’s space and then thrust the lance upwards taking them unawares. Byleth wasn’t able to avoid getting hit. Hot pain sliced her shoulder and Byleth immediately reached for the thread to move time backwards, sure that if she came from the other side it would work, but nothing happened.

_I’ve told you before, the power isn’t limitless._

Byleth launched another attack, heedless of the pain in her shoulder, and was able to land a hit on the mage. It didn’t do much damage, but she was able to activate the Crest of Flames and felt the pain in her shoulder dull as she pulled her lance backwards for another attack. 

The mage didn’t waver in their assault. They should’ve been out of spells by now, but whoever Myson was to them, was giving them the kind of reserves that would get everyone killed if Byleth wasn’t careful. 

That thought led to the mistake of Byleth checking on her people. Ashe, Leonie, and Caspar were still occupied with other Agarthans. Byleth was an expert at checking fast enough that it wouldn’t delay her reactions in combat, but she didn’t do it fast enough for the dark mage not to notice.

“Shall I make this less crowded for us?” the mage hissed and then the air practically blistered in heat as they started to form a spell directed at where Seteth, Flayn, and Rhea were. Byleth brought the lance down hard on the mage’s arm, hearing a snap that she hoped was a break and a cry that meant it was painful enough to at least distract them from finishing the spell. 

“Get _out_ of here,” Byleth yelled in Flayn, Seteth, and Rhea’s direction. “I’ll hold them off.” 

“We’re not leaving you!” Flayn protested. 

Byleth gritted her teeth and stepped towards them, so that she was bodily blocking any more spell attacks. “Get Rhea and Flayn out of here,” she said to Seteth without looking at him.

“What about you?” he asked.

“What about me?” Byleth replied, but it wasn’t really a question. “I’m not a person, I’ll be fine. I’m always fine.”

_Lies. You’ve seen the other truths. You know that is not the case. Death can occur for even one who lives under the assumption they are immortal._

“I know,” Byleth said to herself and pushed forward again. The mage was more erratic now and down one spell arm. It made them vulnerable on that side, but to give them credit again, it didn’t make them dumb. Byleth had difficulty getting to the weak point of the mage and staying out of range of their attacks at the same time. 

Byleth was at too many disadvantages. Her energy for spells was depleted. She was using an inferior weapon. And she was physically drained. Byleth was sweating from exhaustion and the searing heat. The only thing her mind could do was know for a fact that the violet-black burst of flame speeding towards her was too fast to dodge. 

Byleth felt the wave of magical heat she expected, like standing too close to a flame. She smelled the burning flesh, but what she didn’t feel was the sharp pain of a powerful spell burning through her torso. Byleth’s vision blurred as she looked beside her and registered the hand on her arm that had pushed her just enough out of the way that its owner had taken the brunt of the spell’s impact.

Rhea collapsed to the floor, her hand trailing down Byleth’s arm, flank, then leg before it followed the rest of her body to the ground in a limp collapse. Byleth heard Seteth’s shout, and Flayn’s as well, but they weren’t louder than the rushing noise of blood filling her ears.

Byleth looked up at the veiled mage and her energy reserves flared to life as if divine intervention and anger translated into sharp, hot, white heat as Byleth moved her fingers making the glyph for a spell she’d never successfully used, but the _Abraxas_ tore through the ceiling above the mage’s head and swarmed them with divine white light so bright that it swallowed their screams until there was no sound at all. Time slowed for Byleth, but not in the way it did when she had control over it, but in the way it had when her father had died the second time.

She sank to her knees by Rhea and put her hands on Rhea’s side, trying to channel any sliver of magic she had left into healing. Flayn was crying and shaking her head saying it was too much, that she couldn’t save her. Seteth was holding Flayn, completely silent, eyes glazed with grief already. Rhea was dying. 

“Why did you do that?” Byleth asked Rhea, choking on her own words. Rhea thought of her as a vessel, an empty thing that needed to be filled. _Why_ would she sacrifice herself for less than a whole being?

“I… I am sorry,” Rhea said, her words were soft, and her light green eyes glassy as she stared up at Byleth. “I took you so for granted. I should have… I should have thought about what you wanted. I didn’t think at all about you. I was only,” Rhea coughed, curling into herself a little more, "focused on what I—what I wanted.”

Byleth breath caught sharply. She hadn’t realized how much she had wanted to hear Rhea say that until it had left her mouth. But not like this.

“Please forgive me,” Rhea said, holding her hand up, reaching weakly for Byleth’s face. Then as Byleth leaned towards her, she added, “mother.”

Rhea’s hand touched Byleth’s face, with a mournful look reserved for the mother she lost, and made a pained gasp. “I’m so glad I got to see you again. I’ve… waited so long.” She smiled up Byleth, as if all her dreams had been fulfilled. She smiled at the Goddess that should have filled the vessel. 

The heart that wasn’t Byleth’s broke.

“Mother?” Rhea asked.

Sothis was silent in her mind. Byleth’s own mind had gone blank, only the moment and the feeling crashing in waves were left. 

Byleth gently lifted Rhea into her arms and rested her on her lap, similar to how Rhea had done for her after her escape from the void of darkness. More than that, Byleth stroked Rhea’s hair, like she’d do for one of her own children. The thought of them now twisted her insides and her eyes stung, but she smiled through it. 

“Yes,” Byleth said, softly. “Yes, little sunspot. Your mother’s here. I’ve got you.”

Rhea’s expression shifted into a joyous look Byleth had never seen before. Her features were soft and happy, unguarded. Then the glassiness of Rhea’s eyes slowly faded into an unfocused stare that Byleth had seen too many times.

Byleth swallowed, feeling Rhea’s heart beat against her, a thrumming that slowed, and slowed, and slowed… until there was nothing.

“Rhea?” Seteth asked, his voice strangled with grief already before his mind had even accepted it. “No.”

Byleth felt the sweeping swell of nausea and light-headiness flood her system, which usually accompanied her overextending the use of her powers. She knew she was powerless to fight against it and would soon sink beneath the darkness into an ill-timed sleep. It felt different this time, but still familiar. The drag to sleep, the overwhelming grasp of the void of the unknown. She’d seen this before. Felt it. In one of the visions where someone she loved had killed her.

Byleth lost consciousness to the sound of her name being called.

There was silence and nothing. And then in the chasm of it all, she heard Sothis’s voice, faint as a whisper. “My brave, stupid, scion. Thank you.”

The words drifted off into more silence and Byleth heard and felt nothing. 

And then she heard a heartbeat. And then she felt a heartbeat.

  
 _Her_ heartbeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> caspar, all things considered, was a little relieved rhea couldn't turn into a dragon


	35. Fear the Deer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude bring reinforcements to the battle with TWSITD.
> 
> (or, *plays bennie hill music while the golden deer kids fight*)

Claude glanced at Lysithea and narrowed his eyes. He barely got a chance to gesture to his own head before she looked up at him and gave a familiar scowl. “I know it looks weird, you do not have to comment on it!”

“I wasn’t going to say weird,” Claude said, examining the dark purple roots growing out of her previously stark white hair. “I was going to say interesting.”

“That is merely a nicer way of saying weird,” Lysithea countered.

Claude shrugged, keeping an eye on their surroundings, which at this point was still mostly trees. “I didn’t say it wasn’t, I said I wasn’t going to say it.”

Whatever Lysithea was going to reply with, was drowned out by Hilda’s protesting squeak. “Visit  _ more _ ?”

Claude looked over his shoulder at the tiny pink powerhouse indignantly gesticulating to the very large pink powerhouse. Holst was immovable, crossing his thick arms over his chest. “I never get to see you. It isn’t like it’s far to go.”

“I am running a school!” Hilda said. “Do you know how much work that is?”

“I’m running a territory,” Holst said. The famous General—standing in front of troops that seemed to have seen this all before—put his hands on his hips and leaned down towards his sister. “It’s more work.”

Hilda still stomped her feet a little when she was frustrated, Claude noted, and he tried not to smile in case either of them looked over. “Maybe I’d visit more if you would give me a niece or nephew!”

Holst frowned at her. “Waves and I aren’t going to have kids so you can visit more.” Then he paused and glanced over to his current affianced, Waverley Kent, like he might consider it.

Where Holst was tall, broad, and pink, a veritable sore thumb sticking out in any situation, Kent was Claude’s height and had the build of someone who didn’t spend half his life in the training yard. His coloring was all soft yellows, including his leather armor. “Is this really the right time to be having this discussion?” the poor bastard asked like a sensible human being.

“Butt out, Waverley,” Hilda said. “You’re not part of his conversation!” 

Kent’s eyebrows went south. “I feel like I should be?”

Holst waved him off. Claude was saved from having to listen to the rest of what was bound to be a repetitive conversation by Cyril and Ignatz coming back from their brief scouting mission. 

“It seems as if the United Fódlan Army is already engaged in combat with the, um,” Ignatz looked a little embarrassed, “Who are we fighting again?” 

“The enemy,” Cyril said, like Ignatz was stupid for wanting anything more specific. “Yeah so they’re pretty locked up over there.”

“Anyone look like they’re winning?” Claude asked.

Ignatz shook his head. “It’s evenly matched. From what we could see the, um… enemies are countering the Kingdom attacks easily.”

“It’s like they know what they’re gonna do,” Cyril added.

Claude nodded, his brain processing this information in a sweeping mental hop-around to put the pieces together. He figured someone like the Dance Partners would have good defenses considering they’d been able to take down Teach, but he hadn’t taken into account that the Kingdom Army would be predictable. Claude doubted much had changed in their battle maneuvers and tactics with Dimitri taking over. Even if there were Enbarr soldiers or former Alliance, he didn't think it would make for anything that an advanced society couldn’t predict and prepare for.

And that gave Claude a frankly brilliant idea. 

He walked straight into Hilda and Holst’s argument. “General Holst, you think you can provide some backup to the King of Fódlan and his troops? Scouts say they’re engaged with the enemy.”

Holst frowned. He was… very large this close and somehow also smelled faintly of roses. He also seemed to be wearing earrings and a headband that Hilda definitely made. “A direct attack for reinforcement?”

He seemed skeptical. Hilda made a scoffing noise in the back of her throat. “Just do it. Claude has his scheme face on, so he’s got an  _ idea _ I’m probably going to hate.”

“You won’t hate it,” Claude lied, a little. Hilda narrowed her eyes at him, but she fought a smile. It felt… maybe not exactly like old times, but comfortable if nothing else.

Holst aimed a thick finger at Hilda. “You’re having dinner with us when we’re done here.”

“Ugh, fine,” Hilda said. She hoisted  _ Freikugel _ up on her shoulder. “But I’m not dropping the niece or nephew thing, you need a new place to direct all your overprotective energy.”

“She has a point,” Kent said and Hilda preened at him. 

Holst shook his head at both of them and walked towards his troops. Claude was sure whatever Holst was saying was inspiring, but he had work to do. “Gather up the Deer,” he said. “I have a plan.”

“I both love and hate when you say that,” Hilda said and sauntered off in the direction of Marianne who was tending to some of the infantry horses that had probably had burrs in their hooves. By the time he’d gathered the Deer (and Cyril), Holst and his troops were already marching in. 

“So,” Claude said once they were by him. “These people are probably going to be tough to deal with; they’ve been observing the kinds of military tactics used in Fódlan for a while.”

“Will the Goneril troops be in trouble?” Marianne asked.

“Not if they have an advantage that we can provide,” Claude said, unable to keep from smiling. He missed this. “These people we’re up against are strategic, studied, and would be well knowledgeable about tactics, but… they aren’t expecting us.”

“Oh no,” Lysithea said the same time, Raphael threw a meaty arm into the air and said, “Oh yeah!” 

“And that means?” Cyril asked. 

“That means we are going to provide a bit of the chaotic human element,” Claude said. He pointed at Raphael who immediately stood up straighter. “Remember how you asked about throwing Hilda?”

“No!” Hilda said, immediately as Raphael beamed. “No way! Really?”

Claude tapped his fingers against his thigh and gave Hilda his best commiseration face. “You don’t think a dainty pink lady with an axe being thrown into the air is going to be distracting?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but he had definitely scored some points for dainty, plus Raphael was already excitedly moving towards Hilda and explaining to her his vision. He’d tried to convince Claude to pull that maneuver approximately ten thousand times. It was incredibly hard to resist Raphael’s enthusiasm, as Hilda was finding out. 

“Ignatz, you and Cyril stay in the treeline,” Claude paused and looked at Cyril, standing closer to Lysithea than he would have expected. “You keep up with your bow lessons from Shamir?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” Cyril said and Lysithea’s face bloomed with a small smile. They were  _ adorable _ , but that was something he’d have to tease her about later.

“The tree cover is strange. There’s some sort of barrier keeping the top from being visible so taking wyverns in isn’t going to be feasible for this plan,” Claude said. “Keep high in the trees as close to the combat as you can, but keep moving -- you do not want these people singling you out.”

“Got it,” Ignatz said, with a quick nod.

“Sure thing,” Cyril said, less enthusiastically. He squeezed Lysithea’s hand before he and Ignatz went into the trees and Claude could not resist the knowing smile that crept on his face.

“Sooooo, that’s new.” It was practically later. 

“It’s none of your concern, Claude,” Lysithea said, still getting that little tinge of pink on her nose when she was embarrassed. “What are Marianne and I going to do?”

“Marianne is going to stick with Raph,” Claude said, and Marianne smiled and nodded at him.

“Can I throw her too?” Raphael asked, grinning at the prospect.

“Oh,” Marianne said, “I don’t think that would work as well with me. I’m not sure I would be of much use in the middle of the field like Hilda is.”

“Only throw Hilda,” Claude said, ignoring Hilda’s very rude gesture towards him, “or anybody trying to kill us; throw them all you want, less carefully than Hil.”

“Gee thanks,” Hilda said.

Marianne giggled. “This feels like old times again.”

“Hopefully it’s more successful,” Lysithea said, acerbic as always. 

“Keep Raphael from bleeding out,” Claude said, to Marianne. “Use him as a battering ram if you need to and all of you keep close once Hilda’s gotten the jump—or I suppose the  _ landing _ —on them.”

“What about me?” Lysithea asked. She suddenly looked a little nervous. “Claude, I might not have the same capabilities and skills as before. I, um, don’t have a crest.”

“I know, Lysithea,” Claude said, causing her eyebrows to almost shoot off her face. “Lin told me, but that doesn’t matter. Crests or no crests, I know how hard you study and I’m perfectly comfortable relying on you same as always.”

Lysithea frowned at him. “Then what do you need me to do?”

“The usual stuff,” Claude said, he rarely had to give Lysithea much direction. She and Leonie adapted quickly to combat situations. “But save enough for a warp spell in case you need to make a quick exit.”

Lysithea frowned even more deeply, but nodded. “Fine. What are  _ you _ doing?”

“Ah, see about that,” Claude said, grinning, “I require your warp services first for a very specific target.”

Lysithea narrowed her eyes at him as he explained, which was completely fair considering what he was asking her, but to her credit she still did it. Claude felt the familiar swarm of her magic as it popped him from the ground immediately to mid-air, right above Ingrid’s pegasus. 

Ingrid let out a rather undignified squawk as Claude landed perfectly behind her in the saddle (well, almost perfectly, still pretty impressive of Lysithea’s aim and his own general mid-air reflexes). Ingrid reeled back her lance in a maneuver designed to knock him off, but stalled when she saw it was him aggression replaced by surprise. “Claude? What— _ how _ are you here?”

“Lysithea warped me.”

Ingrid made an irritated scoff and then directed her pegasus away from a well-aimed arrow. He did admire the multitasking. “Where’s the Profe—the Archbishop?”

Middle of a battlefield, focused on the task, and she still couldn’t say Teach’s name. Claude sighed and then spun an arrow out of his quiver and shot it towards the one who had targeted Ingrid’s lovely pegasus. “Remember when you told her not to engage without you?”

The archer was able to avoid the shot, which was very insulting and a waste of a good arrow, but Ingrid came around again, the pegasus sweeping through the air as she hoisted a javelin up and threw it at the poor bastard. 

“Perfect,” she said, swooping her pegasus downwards to retrieve her javelin. 

Claude looked back to see Holst’s troops already folding in nicely to the Capital forces. If he counted it out correctly, Cyril and Ignatz would be on sniper duty soon. Claude glanced over the rest of the battlefield now that he could get a pegasus-eye view. The Dance Partners had some fairly tough mages it looked like, as well as grunt forces? He wasn’t sure, but the attacks of some of them seemed almost mechanical in nature. 

He didn’t see Lin, which was actually a relief. “Did Linhardt stay in Fhirdiad?”

Claude really did not like the way Ingrid got somehow stiffer at that. She almost missed avoiding a bolt of dark magic by that distraction. “Ingrid, the silence is not reassuring.”

“He went in the back way,” Ingrid said.

“There’s a back way?” Claude asked. He had to quickly refocus his energy, however, because that one smart mage that attacked them was now gaining other enemy forces who realized taking out the Falcon Knight was an excellent idea. His aim wasn’t out of practice, even if he was usually in the front of the flyer, but Ingrid’s tactics had a lot more to do with sweeping in, brutalizing a foe with her lance, and then sweeping back out. Claude adapted, however, and had gotten at least three arrows off (none of them missing), before he found what he was really looking for.

“Mind setting me down over by His Majesty?”

Ingrid nodded, focused on the fight, and flew over where Dimitri was engaged in a rather violent swing of  _ Areadbhar _ directly into a now very dead enemy’s skull. Claude couldn’t help the wince. “Actually second thought, land with me.”

“We’re in the  _ middle _ of combat,” Ingrid said.

“I’m aware,” Claude said. He tried not to lay it on too thick, Ingrid had a fairly impressive bullshit detector, but was still a rule follower at heart. “Don’t you want to keep your leader briefed on the state of the battle, especially with new pertinent information that could change the course of it?” 

Ingrid frowned at him, but then pulled back on the reins and her pegasus circled the area where Dimitri was crunching through the remnants of the Dance Partners who hadn’t quite found their footing against his beastial fighting tactics. 

“Claude?” Dimitri asked once they landed. Claude eyed  _ Areadbhar _ and made sure he was slightly farther than its cutting range. 

“Teach is inside,” Claude said, getting the worst of it out of the way, especially while he was close enough to Ingrid to use her as a physical shield if he needed. “She went after Flayn.”

“They have Flayn?” Dedue, not far from Dimitri as usual, asked. 

“Apparently,” Claude said. “Anyway, I don’t know if you’ve noticed the Goneril reinforcements, but there’s also about to be a diversion that—”

A high pitched angry war scream that sounded a lot like, “You’re making me work!” came from behind them. It took everything in Claude not to glance back and see the image of what he knew was Hilda landing perfectly in the middle of confused enemy combatants who were about to be full subject to her frustration (that he’d absolutely wound up on purpose for this reason) channeled through  _ Freikugel _ . 

“So anyway diversion,” Claude repeated, drawing Dimitri, Dedue, and Ingrid’s attention back to him. He pointed southeast. “That’s the direction they took Flayn. There’s got to be a visible entrance if we can get close enough.”

“Which is possible now with the additional reinforcement and diversion further engaging their people,” Dedue said. Almost immediately after that, he turned around, bringing his rather hefty armored weight into countering a sword swinging in Dimitri’s direction. Claude’s eyebrows raised as he saw who was swinging it.

The eyes of the man—person, whoever—were lifeless, even before Dedue finished his counterattack. “ _ What _ is that?”

“Their forces appear to be under some sort of spell,” Dedue said, dislodging the now definitely lifeless person off his Brave Axe. 

“Likely more of their experiments,” Dimitri said, darkly. The look on his face was really making Claude rethink the whole go into the deep end together thing. Problem was, he’d rather have scary Dimitri pointed at his enemies than him and rather than going alone. “We’ll push that way,” Dimitri said, and strangely enough, it was a voice Claude felt compelled to follow. Fear, or respect? Who knew and who cared?

The lifeless attackers seemed to be the mechanically moving figures that he’d observed from above. They didn’t all move so abruptly to be noticed, some of them he wouldn’t have even thought were anything but normal enemy forces until he caught a glimpse of their expressionless faces. 

The four of them moving in one direction should have caused at least a little bit of notice, especially with a grounded pegasus flier and the giants that were Dedue and Dimitri, but as arrows zinged into the air seemingly at random and magical energy burst forth so strong it shook the ground, displacing some of the enemy combatants, they weren’t the highest priority on the ‘to kill’ list. 

“Ah, he took me literally,” Claude said, smirking as one of the mages that had been trying to down Ingrid earlier yelled as they flew through the air and landed none-too-nicely into one of their less animated friends. 

“That is… certainly a diversion,” Ingrid said. Claude pretended she was awed.

“It has given us an opening,” Dedue said.

Pride was probably not the thing to feel at the moment—especially considering all Hilda had said about him abandoning them—but Claude felt it all the same.

A rather large and fairly impressive actually mechanical figure emerged from where Claude had suspected the entrance was. It looked like a giant doll, similar to the mechanical monster that had attacked them in the temple. Not reassuring in the slightest, since it was blocking the entrance.

“Go,” Ingrid said, to Dimitri and Dedue mostly. “I’ll keep it occupied until we can force more though.”

No one argued with her, mostly because Ingrid had already mounted and was flying off by the time she’d finished her sentence. She did manage to keep it occupied and all the concern he might have had for her taking it on alone faded as he heard Raphael’s loud and cheerful voice saying, “Hey, Ingrid? Need a hand?”

Claude followed behind Dedue and Dimitri, an arrow in his hand and the smallest smirk on his face. That was the Golden Deer for you.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in another timeline, years earlier, raphael, after once again being told no by claude, asks byleth if he can throw _her_ and she immediately says yes -- the enemy does not see it coming then either


	36. Focus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix, Annette, Linhardt, and Genevieve make their way through the TWISTD compound and run into the unexpected.
> 
> (or, how to ignore a nervous breakdown, brought to you by felix fraldarius)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for this chapter! References to pre-modern medicine, blood, medical experiments, explicit animal abuse, and PSTD symptoms including panic attacks. 
> 
> Sorry for the wait on this one, but the rest of the chapters are outlined and I am making progress. Thank you so so much to everyone who has read, kudosed, and/or commented!! If for some reason I missed replying, I did see it and it made my day!
> 
> One again, blessed be Iz, the beta of this and I'm @waffle_fancy on twitter

It was strange how a place could feel ancient and brand new at the same time, but this cavernous city managed both. It was too large for what Felix could have reasonably pictured beneath the surface, even in his younger days when he’d listened to his old bat of a caregiver’s tales of white-eyed mole people who stole misbehaving children. He knew based on how far they’d gone down that they were only seeing a portion of it, which made him uneasy. The strangeness of the place put him off balance, like he was fighting on sand.

The floor the… magic box (for lack of a better term) had taken them to appeared to be a medical facility, although it wasn’t as occupied as he would have expected. His sword arm itched to have something to do, but they were several paces in and no one had appeared. Based on how long it took them to get through the underground tunnel, it was likely that the front had been engaged by now. 

“Dimitri must be attacking the front,” Annette said, mirroring his thoughts. “Or it seems like there’d be people here.”

“Excellent,” Linhardt said, breezily. He looked around in awe, like Ingrid seeing a dining hall full of food. “That means we will have an easier time exploring and investigating.”

Felix glanced at Genevieve. She looked unfocused and would probably be a liability if they did run into someone. “What value are we supposed to get from this place that’ll help with the front engagement?” he asked.

Linhardt shrugged, disinterested as he carefully picked up a syringe. It had a small amount of viscous purple liquid inside and the plunger was pushed almost all the way down. They passed a small room with a white cot that had an obscene number of straps that were clearly to pin patients down. Felix had vague memories of the worst of the plague in Faerghus and similar beds being set up due to seizures, but these looked less altruistic in design. 

There was also the acrid smell of blood in the air. Which Linhardt wandered off to find the source of, because the universe was determined to curse Felix. 

Felix was about to drag Linhardt out of the room when he heard a sharp intake of breath, followed by another one, clearly straining against the airway of whoever was taking the breath. He turned to see Genevieve curling in on herself and hyperventilating as she sank towards the floor. Annette tried some comforting words and a calm touch with a hand lit up by healing magic but Genevieve flinched away from it, continuing to choke on her own air.

Felix walked towards Genevieve, crouched, and then grasped her shoulder firmly to get her attention, ignoring Annette’s frustrated, “Felix!”

Her dark eyes were unfocused and she was still breathing in a wildly erratic pattern. “Breathe in,” he said, and after a second of no response but hiccuping gasps he pushed down his frustration and said, “Don’t think about anything except trying to breathe in for four seconds…”

Genevieve attempted it, the air in her breath sounding like it was skipping against her throat, but she did it for four and so Felix said, “now hold it until I say to breathe out.”

She didn’t manage it so he told her to breathe in again and after another attempt, he counted to seven and told her to breathe out. Felix made her repeat the process until her breathing slowed down to something closer to a normal cadence.

Felix let go of her shoulder and stood up, flicking his eyes down the hallway in case there’d been an approach from their lack of subtlety in the last few moments. His sword arm still itched, but he was relieved no one had seemed to notice them.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” Annette asked him.

Felix glanced towards her and saw she was helping Genevieve up to her feet. Genevieve’s hair was sticking to her forehead with sweat and she seemed to be wholly focused on breathing correctly and the view of the floor.

“Sylvain used to get attacks like that during the war,” Felix said. Dimitri still did, although it had been a while as far as Felix knew. He didn’t tell her that Sylvain had gotten them _before_ the war (because of what none of them had fully realized Miklan was doing) and that Felix had learned it from watching Glenn teach it to Sylvain. He’d never found out how Glenn knew it in the first place, but there was no point in dwelling, especially now.

“Thank you,” Genevieve said, pushing her hair back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t… I really didn’t think I’d ever be back in this place.”

“You didn’t throw up,” Felix gave her.

“ _Felix_ ,” Annette chided, but Genevieve gave a soft, tired laugh. 

Felix saw that Linhardt was still sorting through the different objects in the room, some of which were definitely housing whatever blood caused the smell. He swallowed his rising annoyance. “Linhardt,” Felix said, drawing the man’s attention. “If you lived in a building such as this one, with a clinic for experimentations, where would you put yourself?” 

Linhardt seemed to take the question seriously at least. He tilted his head. “I’d want to be close enough to easily access my results, especially if the experiments had time constraints, but not so close that it would affect my circadian rhythms.”

“So likely this floor or one below or above it?” Felix asked.

Linhardt nodded. “Their vertical travel system appears to be efficient, but I can’t imagine taking as far of a journey as we did from the top would be practical in this scenario.”

That meant whoever was taking enough blood to exsanguinate a man was either on this floor or one floor removed. Felix couldn’t rely on them being the bookish type like Hanneman or Linhardt and hanging back from a fight. Even if they were more combative and likely near the front, there could be something in their living quarters that might prove to be leverage or at least strategic information to provide that would make this entire endeavor worth something. He couldn’t see a better option. These people didn’t act like any people Felix had seen before, so there was no way to predict if their strongholds would be set up in any fashion he was familiar with. 

They kept moving. It was still eerily empty for a place that seemed like it had been recently active. There was even a half-empty glass of water in what appeared to be a shared office. There were also visuals worse than the empty blood vials, like the body of a man abandoned on one of those cots, limp and forgotten. Annette felt compelled to check on him (and Linhardt, surprisingly, stepped in front of Genevieve to block her view of it), but even from this far Felix could tell the man was dead. He didn’t generally think there was much of a point in focusing on how someone had died. Dead was dead, but this wasn’t dying on the battlefield. It was being butchered.

“This place is evil,” Annette said with a shudder on her return. 

No one raised a voice of dissent. 

Felix almost didn’t look at the next room they passed, covered in barred doors, not interested to see another corpse, but the corner of his eye caught a shade of red that was intimately familiar to him.

“Felix?” Annette asked, as Felix stopped and stared at the impossible limp figure of his husband, slumped forward on a cot.

Sylvain wasn’t here. He was miles away in Hevring territory with Ashe on a mission for the crown. Sylvain didn’t even _know_ about the threat of these Agarthans. There was absolutely no way for that to be him. 

Felix heard Annette’s shocked, “Oh, _Goddess_ , Sylvain!” And then the impossibility became reality and the reality ran through Felix with a numbing rush that felt like he was plummeting through the floor. 

Annette was pulling at the barred doors and calling his name, but it wasn’t fully registering, since Felix was still in a free-fall. Then he saw Sylvain move and _Thoron_ discharged from his hands, knocking the door off its hinges. 

Felix was four steps into the cell with his hands on Sylvain’s face, needing to see ochre eyes staring back at him before he’d even blinked himself. Sylvain squinted up at him — _alive_ — and Felix returned from his delirium. 

“Is this a dream or a hallucination?” Sylvain asked. His voice was raspy and weak. Felix felt the thick bristly stubble that Sylvain shaved off every morning underneath his palms and fingers. It was thick enough to have been _days_ since he shaved it.

“What are those marks?” Linhardt asked and Felix realized both he and Annette were healing Sylvain from opposite sides. 

“I… don’t know,” Annette said. Her glove was off, alight with the cool healing magic she was radiating to Sylvain in pulses against his bare skin. 

Felix had to drop his hands from Sylvain’s face to see what they were talking about. There were bruise colored lines, spread out in an intricate web all over Sylvain’s arms and chest. They looked like upraised tattoos, carved into his skin. Now that Felix was taking in more than the existence of a living, breathing Sylvain, he saw that Sylvain’s wrists were restrained, but an attempt to remember anything Ashe had shown him about lock-picking failed miserably.

“I can remove those,” Linhardt said, moving around Felix to Sylvain’s back where those same strange marks stretched over Sylvain’s shoulders and reached towards his lower back. Linhardt pressed one finger to the manacles and used the other three to form an unfamiliar glyph. Almost immediately the manacles fell from Sylvain’s wrists and to the floor with a clang.

Sylvain let out a satisfied grunt as his arms swung forward and the tension in his shoulders eased. Linhardt examined his wrists. There were those marks there too, but they were obfuscated by the bruising left by the manacles.

“Those wounds aren’t normal… I can’t heal them,” Annette said. Sylvain looked up at her and then at Linhardt, then at Felix and then down at his wrists. “Sylvain?” Annette asked.

Sylvain nodded. “Yep.” His voice had a rasp to it. The kind that came from too much exertion. From yelling or screaming. 

“They’re magical in nature,” Linhardt said, as if this was all a science experiment. Which is what it was. Because that’s where they were. They were in a graveyard of dangerous human experiments. 

“It’s not like any magic I’ve seen before,” Annette said. 

“Charsis activated his crest,” Genevieve said. When Felix turned around, she was standing by the broken metal doors. 

“Pleasant woman, that Charsis,” Sylvain said, with a wheeze, but at least more cognizant. “Couldn’t hurt if she brushed up on her hosting skills though.”

Annette looked him over one more time before turning to Genevieve. “What does that mean? When your crest activates it doesn’t … do that. Even using dark magic doesn’t do that.” She emphasized her point by wiggling her slightly stained fingers. 

“It’s Charsis’ grand oeuvre,” Genevieve said, voice flat. “A spell that does something to your blood so it makes it feel like it's boiling. It travels up every vein, or wherever she feels like…” She rolled up her sleeve slightly and showed off the inside of her wrist and forearm, which were covered in an intricate web of scars that appeared similar in pattern to the marks on Sylvain with less pigment. “Your body reacts, but since you’re not using a spell or a weapon, the crest…has nowhere else to go.”

“It activates a crest without a release?” Linhardt asked. His lips were turned down and when Genevieve nodded, he turned back towards Sylvain. Linhardt’s brow furrowed and he placed long fingertips onto Sylvain’s collarbone. His healing magic radiated warm this close, rather than the coolness Felix was used to from Annette or Mercedes. 

Whatever he did it didn’t heal the marks, but Sylvain blinked and then looked around again, before twisting his mouth and saying in a much steadier voice, “I know this isn’t a sex dream, because Annette’s here.”

Annette let out a small, quiet laugh. “I’ve never been more relieved to be left out of something in my life.”

“That’s a little rude,” Sylvain pitched back at her with a grin. 

“I didn’t think we’d interacted enough for you to have nocturnal fantasies,” Linhardt said, the hand previously on Sylvain now resting on his own hip.

Sylvain gave a careless shrug and his grin turned sly. “I had a hot for doc phase.”

Annette crinkled her nose. “Does that mean you had dirty dreams about Mercie?”

“It’d be weirder if I didn’t,” Sylvain said to her, but he’d turned to look up at Felix. “Don’t be pissed, Gen being in them was your fault because — and I am not proud of this — the jealousy thing was kind of a turn on. Besides, you were in them too. Okay, I’m a little proud of it,” he said with a laugh that sounded more like a wheeze. Then he turned his back to Genevieve. “Related, not that I don’t _very much_ appreciate the rescue, but why are you here? Did Dimitri’s soldiers go on strike?”

Something snapped.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing here?” Felix demanded. “You’re supposed to be in Hevring.”

Sylvain snorted and rolled his shoulders with a wince. “You know I can’t read a map.” 

“This isn’t — this isn’t a joke, you reckless, irresponsible, _asshole_.”

Sylvain’s eyebrows raised and Annette softly said, “Felix.” 

“You’re not supposed to _be_ here,” Felix snapped. His collar felt tight, he breathed out to prove that he still could, but it didn’t help much. His insides felt compressed. 

“Hey,” Sylvain said, staring up at Felix with a concerned frown. His voice sounded like when he was trying to calm one of his horses or the Gautier hunting dogs. “I’m okay, Felix. Really.” 

Sylvain reached out to him, but Felix jerked away realizing his hands were free. Felix wasn’t holding his sword. He’d dropped it without noticing. 

“We need to go,” Felix said, sharply. His throat felt like an overused whetstone. He scanned the room, slightly disoriented by the details he’d ignored in the fog of the last few minutes, and found his sword lying near what was left of the door. He squeezed the pommel painfully hard to feel it in the palm of his hand before he properly gripped the hilt.

“What’s the rush?” Sylvain said, tiredly and rubbed his face with one hand. 

“Charsis might come back here,” Genevieve said, her knuckles were white where they gripped the metal bar of the door hanging off its hinges, “if she thinks you’re valuable.”

 _Let her come back_. Felix thought, the anger boiling into acid in his throat. 

“Wait,” Sylvain said, sounding, finally showing a little concern for his situation, “You didn’t charge in here and clear out the place?”

“We are on a stealth mission,” Annette said. “To seek intelligence and not run into anyone who can do very scary unknown spells. That’s what Dimitri, Dedue, my father and the Kingdom Forces are doing.”

“We came in the back way,” Linhardt said simply. “And we _should_ disperse. This hasn’t been the quietest stealth mission.”

Sylvain tried to push himself to standing, but let out a sharp breath, blinking furiously as he wavered on his feet before sitting down again. Felix automatically stepped towards Sylvain, but stopped before he could help him up. Felix was certain if he touched Sylvain right now he’d crack into pieces. 

“Genevieve,” he said, harsher than he intended. Felix couldn’t control his voice. He couldn’t control himself. This was helping nothing. “Help Sylvain up since you’re the only one who doesn’t know how to fight. We need to get out of here.”

Any help they could be to the troops out front, to a fight that Felix could understand, was gone. They needed to get Sylvain as far away from this place as possible. Felix’s hand tensed on his sword hilt. 

“I’m not volunteering to fight,” Linhardt said, offering Sylvain an arm before Genevieve had finished walking over to do the same. Felix watched as they helped Sylvain get to his feet, one arm slung around each of their shoulders. Linhardt looked Sylvain up and down and said, “Hmm.”

Genevieve crinkled her nose as her eyes followed the gesture. “We have to go out the front way with all the fighting, don’t we?”

“Sylvain isn’t going to fit in that tunnel,” Annette agreed.

“Look,” Sylvain said, “I might have gained a little extra cushioning but you don’t have to be rude about it.”

“Your height is more the issue,” Linhardt said.

Genevieve muttered something that sounded like, “I hate tall people.”

Felix also doubted Sylvain was going to be able to squeeze through that tunnel. He certainly couldn’t accomplish whatever contortionist stretch Linhardt had done, even if he wasn’t in this condition. They’d have to go through the front.

Felix could feel Sylvain’s eyes on him. “Felix… are you okay?”

 _Was he okay?_ What kind of asinine, self-destructive person asked that after being chained up, tortured, and looking like they were…

“Let’s go,” Felix said, brusk. 

“Felix—” Sylvain started, but a noise from outside the cell made his mouth snap shut.

Felix raised his sword and Annette had her hand up, spell ready, as a voice nearby said, “They couldn’t have gotten far. Sweep this floor. Charsis will gut us if we lose her specimens.” 

“When is she not seconds away from gutting someone?” another voice, even closer said, and then its owner appeared in front of the cell doors, staring at them all with her eyes wide and mouth slightly open.

They were at a disadvantage, their backs to an enclosed space, the exit covered by an unknown amount of combatants. The terse silence as they processed that was broken by another voice, saying, “Cleo? You find ‘em?”

The woman, Cleo, was still staring. Except it wasn’t a stare; it was eye contact, significant eye contact with Sylvain. Sylvain gave a strained smile and mouthed, “Please?”

The woman kept staring, long enough for Felix to decide the risk was worth it to advance an attack, but before he could move forward, she called back, “No. No one down here. They must have moved on.”

“All right,” said, yet another voice. “We’ll sweep the rest. Meet us at the next floor.” 

A long uncomfortable silence stretched into the room as audible footsteps trailed off and then Sylvain let out a breath, as if he’d been holding it the entire time. “Thank you, Cleo.”

Cleo pursed her lips. “I didn’t see you.”

“Wait,” Sylvain said, as she started to turn. “Do you know a way out of here?”

“Seriously?” Cleo asked, her eyes briefly flicked to Felix and Annette before settling on Sylvain again. 

Sylvain’s smile was lopsided and if Felix’s insides hadn’t still been magma from Ailell, charming. “You already helped. What’s one more lie? For old time’s sake.”

Cleo snorted, but also looked away slightly and tucked some hair behind her ear and said, “Unbelievable.” 

“That’s _not_ a no,” Sylvain managed to sound completely at ease, while still using two people to hold up his weight.

Cleo sighed and gestured with her hands before they slapped loudly against her sides. “If you head back towards the stairs, go down a floor, and make a left towards the elevator. It’ll take you to the top floor, which is the way out.”

“What is an elevator?” Linhardt asked.

Cleo blinked at him and then pressed her fingers to her temple. “Of course you don’t know what that is.” She frowned in thought and then gestured with the same hand. “It’s a thing that is like stairs but you don’t have to use your legs. It’ll move you up and down, like a big metal, um, carriage?”

“The magic box,” Annette said.

“Sure, why not,” Cleo replied, with thinly veiled contempt at the phrase. Then she looked from Annette to Sylvain again and narrowed her eyes. Felix flexed his grip on his sword, but then realized she was looking at Genevieve. “You look familiar.”

If Genevieve moved any further behind Sylvain with his arm still slung around her, she would have been directly in his armpit. “I get that a lot,” she said. 

Comprehension dawned on Cleo’s face and she snapped her fingers and pointed. “Kitten! Wow. Everyone thought you died.”

“Kitten?” Sylvain asked angling his head at an awkward angle to look at her.

“Charsis called me that,” Genevieve mumbled. 

Sylvain stared down at her, amusement quickly morphing into confusion and then his eyebrows raised and he cleared his throat. “That’s a cute nickname from a…” His mouth twisted. “Too many insulting and accurate words, not enough time.”

“It wasn’t a compliment,” Genevieve said, only a little louder. “She said I reminded her of a time she threw a bag of kittens into a lake and one of them managed not to drown.”

“I don’t know your actual name,” Cleo said, “but you should probably get out of here _now_ . Charsis is pissed enough that the loud mercenary and his friends escaped. She finds out her lost success is back and you’re _not_ going to get out of here.”

“Which friends?” Sylvain asked. “Was there a freckled guy with silver hair and a ginger with—well with a mouth on her.”

“Literally,” Cleo said, with a nod. “She bit someone’s ear off.”

Sylvain let out a relieved sigh and then said, expression serious and sincere. “You should get out of here too.”

Cleo scoffed a laugh and cocked an eyebrow at him. “Right.”

“Get out of here,” Sylvain repeated. “Take Sclep and Geia with you. It’s about to get nuts and this place, no offense, _sucks_. I don’t enjoy my work on some days, but I’d let His Majesty use me as a fucking footrest over working for that harpy.”

Cleo pursed her lips. She seemed as if she were about to respond to that when a strange blaring noise echoed like an alarm bell, but sharper. 

“What is that?” Annette asked.

“Proximity alarm,” Cleo said, staring up at the ceiling that was intermittently flashing red lights in sync with the blaring noise. “Means the security protocols are live, because we’re being attacked from the surface.” She sighed and then dropped her head. “You know what? Fuck it. I always wanted to know what a horse looked like in person.” 

She turned away from them, but then paused and glanced back at Sylvain who shot her a lopsided smile. Cleo bit her lip and then turned around and disappeared out of view.

“Did you _seduce_ your way out of captivity?” Annette asked, the second she was gone.

Sylvain shrugged. “Kinda? Guess those Damiano Daring books do work. I can thank Ashe when we meet up with him,” he looked at Felix a little too intently, “Ashe and Leonie are here, hopefully some other people too.”

Ashe made sense, since he’d been on the mission in the first place. Leonie didn’t, but none of them should have been here in the first place, so anything making sense was not a luxury that Felix was being afforded. 

“Annette, take the rear,” Felix said, checking to make sure Linhardt and Genevieve had Sylvain steadied and then turned sharply to follow this Cleo woman’s directions. He passed his sword to his other hand and rubbed out the tension and contact marks from his palm onto his thigh before passing it back to his dominant grip as he walked.

“What happened to the other kitten?” Linhardt asked from behind.

“She stepped on it,” Genevieve said, bleakly. 

“Wowee,” Annette said. “For once I am not going to feel the slightest bit bad when Byleth cuts that bitch in half.”

“Annie,” Sylvain scolded, pretending to sound scandalized. “ _Language_.” 

Felix tuned their chatter out and focused in front of him. The hall was still making intermittent blaring noises in tandem with those odd lights. They didn’t run into anyone as they made towards the stairs. His sword hand more than itched and that was all Felix could focus on at the moment.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the first thing sylvain says after being brought up to speed is, "I _knew_ Cord was a wang."


	37. Normal Weapon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth has no time to process what happened, because they're still stuck in Shambhala but has to deal with the fallout anyway.
> 
> (or, byleth needs another five year nap)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TY once again to Iz for the beta and to anyone who has taken the time to comment, I adore you. Thank you so much. I am nearing the end of this and getting emotional so. (Also thank you to the kudos-ers and the lurkers! I am glad if anyone finds any enjoyment in reading this.)

Byleth had woken up ten minutes ago, if waking up was the accurate term. Flayn, even in her weakened state, had nearly re-bruised Byleth’s ribs with a bone crushing hug. Ashe had been crying and Byleth wanted to believe that some of Seteth’s tears weren’t only for Rhea, since apparently everyone had thought she was dead for at least two minutes.

She had a heartbeat. A real actual heartbeat. Byleth didn’t notice it unless she pressed her fingers to her chest to feel it faintly pulsate beneath her skin. And apparently her hair and eye color had reverted to what they had been before she had merged with Sothis. he had to take Leonie’s word on both, since her hair was too short to really see without wrenching her neck. 

If they were not directly in the middle of an underground nightmare, she would have appreciated time to process any of that. An underground nightmare, however, was where they were. 

“We should leave before they call in reinforcements,” Byleth said. 

Leonie shook her head. “Sorry, can’t do that. I was trying to tell you earlier: a couple of my guys and Sylvain are still here.”

Byleth dropped any thoughts of escape. “Do you know where they are?”

“They couldn’t have been far from where we were being held,” Leonie said. “We found you when we were searching, so our best bet is to double back.”

It was a truly terrible idea, but if Sylvain was in danger, Byleth was going to do it anyway. She looked over at Flayn and Seteth, unable to keep her gaze from traveling to Rhea’s prone form on the floor. Someone had closed Rhea’s eyes and settled her arms over her chest, almost like she was praying. That serene smile was still on her face. Byleth jerked her head back up. “I don’t like it, but I think you and Flayn should come with us until Dimitri and his forces arrive. If that happens before we find Sylvain and the others, I think I can give you good enough directions to get close enough to the front to move between the chaos and get out.” 

“We will not abandon you!” Flayn said, stubbornly.

Byleth looked at Seteth. 

“We will abandon you immediately should the opportunity arise and get Flayn to safety,” he said.

“There we go,” Byleth said, ignoring Flayn’s indignant sputtering. Byleth would support her efforts to be taken seriously when she wasn’t so wan and weak from months spent in this hellish subterranean city. 

She watched as Seteth picked up Rhea’s body. Rhea could have been sleeping peacefully in his arms. Byleth turned away. 

There was a wrongness in walking back towards where she’d previously been locked up, but Byleth led the way. She kept the pace until Ashe called her attention to a locked door they’d missed.

“It looks like a supply closet,” Leonie said.

“Yeah, but who puts that many locks for mops?” Caspar said.

“Ashe,” Byleth said, “Open it. If our Dance Partners are hiding it, it must be important.”

“Dance Partners?” Leonie asked. 

“Agarthans,” Byleth corrected. “I think.” That sounded right. She suddenly couldn’t remember why she’d known that they were called that. “Claude and I were using Dance Partners as a code phrase.”

“Ah,” Leonie said. “That sounds like Claude.” 

There was a soft clink as the first lock released. Caspar was leaning against the wall, watching Ashe, and he grinned. “Have I mentioned how cool that is?”

“Don’t get used to it,” Ashe said, but he was smiling. He worked the next two locks open. The contents of the small supply closet were several relics, ironically stacked together like brooms.

Byleth sighed in relief as she saw that one of the relics was her sword. Another was the _Lance of Ruin_ and the third she recognized as Catherine’s _Thunderbrand_. They’d have to leave the last one here for now. No one had the Crest of Charon and, without it, it was a heavy weapon that was too dangerous to wield. Still…

Byleth reached to pick up the _Sword of the Creator._ It still felt the same in her hands, lighter than it looked, but longer than she’d wield in a practice bout or if she was light on umbral steel for repairs. She held it up and stared at the familiar place where a crest stone should be and felt her pulse _and_ the unfamiliar sensation of a heartbeat speed up in their rhythm. 

“This isn’t going to work, is it?” Byleth asked, even though she knew the answer.

“Try it,” Flayn suggested, encouraging. “Perhaps the Goddess only gave you a new… look.”

Byleth swung the sword in an arc that should have had it glowing, but it merely sliced awkward and unwieldy through the air. She tried flicking her wrist back in a move she’d done a thousand times to send a chain strike forward, but the result was the same. It was as useless as _Thunderbrand_ now.

Byleth realized there was an uncomfortable silence, when Caspar broke through it. “You don’t really need it though, right? I mean, you took out that one guy with one hand.”

“Right,” Byleth said. She wasn’t sure she believed it. They could come back for it when they cleared this place out and all of this was over. If she couldn’t wield it, maybe she could at least return the sword to Sothis’s tomb. She put the sword back in the sad closet and picked up Sylvain’s relic. At least he could use it.

Ashe offered to take it and kept it on his back. He was out of arrows—they’d need to figure something out about that soon enough. Byleth ignored the door of the closet swinging closed with a ‘clunk’ as they continued on their path. It still felt wrong to be traipsing back into danger, especially with the harbinger of Rhea’s body still being carried limply in Seteth’s arms.

Byleth couldn’t think about it. 

The loud clanking gave away that they were about to have company, but there wasn’t enough time to retreat or hide before an armored soldier came around the corner. Byleth might not have had use of the _Sword of the Creator_ , but she didn’t need it. Armored units on their own were a hotbox with the right spell. At least she didn’t feel like her reserves were drained anymore. 

Byleth made the glyph for a simple faith spell. She didn’t want to overdo it, especially since at the moment there was only the one axe wielding armored knight. 

Nothing happened. 

Byleth made two more glyphs for different spells, but still nothing happened.

In Byleth’s confusion (and panic) she almost didn’t dodge the crack of lightning discharged from the axe that went straight towards her. Leonie and Caspar stepped in and managed to keep whoever it was between them and unable to focus on one target. He had range with that Bolt Axe, but he didn’t have the speed to keep switching between them, which kept both Caspar and Leonie in a good position to have the advantage on him. 

Byleth tried making another glyph and then another but it felt like she was writing her name in the air with one letter always off. 

The hall lit up with a golden glow and a faint outline of white feathers as a _Seraphim_ spell hit the armored unit. It damaged him enough that Caspar and Leonie made quick work of finishing him off. After, Caspar tossed the Bolt Axe to Ashe who didn’t seem to expect it and fumbled with it in the air before he grasped it firmly.

Byleth hadn’t made that spell. She looked to her right, where a still tired Flayn was looking pleased. “I do not generally appreciate violence, but that was… somewhat satisfying, I must say.”

Byleth couldn’t think straight. She couldn’t do anything if she didn’t have magic. She couldn’t wield the sword, she couldn’t do spells… she was _Thunderbrand_ , something heavy and dangerous dragging them down. 

“Are you all right?” Seteth asked and it took Byleth a moment to realize he was talking to her and not Flayn.

“I couldn’t make a spell,” Byleth said.

“You may be tired,” Flayn offered. “You did a number of spells earlier when…” She trailed off and seemed to look anywhere but at the body in her father’s arms.

“No, it’s… it felt different—I don’t think… what if I can’t do magic?” Byleth asked. She had never felt this weak before. How was she supposed to protect her people if she couldn’t even form a simple spell? “If I can’t use my sword and I can’t do magic, I’m a liability.” 

“Do not be foolish,” Seteth said. “You’re… you simply need to give it some time.”

“We don’t have time!” Byleth said. Her hands shook. This wasn’t right at all. This was the worst possible timing for any of this to be happening.

“Hey!” Leonie snapped at her, then shoved Byleth’s arm to draw her attention. Leonie looked more than a little pissed. She glared and pointed her finger at Byleth. “You were trained by Captain Jeralt! Whatever the Goddess did in the Academy doesn’t change that. You were still taught how to be a mercenary by a top tier fighter, hunter, tracker, mercenary, and knight.” She gestured behind her to Caspar and Ashe. “Use a normal weapon like the rest of us.”

“Leonie…” Ashe started, but Byleth waved him off.

“No, she’s… you’re right,” she said to Leonie. She stared at Leonie, flanked by Caspar and Ashe, all three of them crestless and endlessly capable. Byleth had even trained one of them herself and before coming to Garreg Mach she spent most of her life not knowing she had a crest. Sothis had only been a dream of a sleeping girl. 

This wasn’t the time to freak out. She had plenty of combat experience and even if she was an unknown variable with absolutely no way to get any kind of do-over in a fight, she was still Byleth Eisner. For as far back as she could remember, she had always known how to wield some kind of weapon. Maybe the Ashen Demon and her skillset had been amplified by Sothis, but that couldn’t have been all of it. Her father had taught her everything he knew.

“You should take lead,” Byleth added. Leonie’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Your reflexes are better than mine right now. I’m not thinking clearly.”

“That’s… uh, understandable,” Leonie said awkwardly and then adjusted her stance. She gestured with her head. “We should keep going then.”

They followed. Byleth tried not to think about her lack of skills and focused on Leonie’s ease at taking the lead. She must have been a pretty good leader for her mercenaries. Jeralt would’ve been proud. When they were out of here, Byleth would have to tell her that.

“Byleth?” Flayn asked, walking next to her. “Do you recall the time you almost burned down the Blue Lions classroom?”

Byleth groaned. “Why does _everyone_ keep bringing that up?”

Flayn’s laugh was a little forced, but her smile seemed real. “I merely meant that perhaps your magical skillset is less based in faith spells. Your fire spell was very strong,” Flayn said, with a confident nod. 

“Very destructive would be more accurate,” Seteth muttered. 

Flayn wryly glanced at Seteth and then promptly ignored him. Byleth had missed her. “You had not been blessed with the Goddess then. So it seems that Her influence was not the reason the classroom almost burnt down.”

That did seem like something Sothis would have taken credit for, but… “Flayn, I was joined with Sothis from the beginning… ironically. _All_ of my magic could have been from her.”

“I do not believe it is,” Flayn said, strongly enough that Byleth almost believed her too. “Especially since it was such a poorly controlled spell. I could not see Her influence being quite so erratic.”

A loud blaring noise filled the area and the lights flickered in tandem, stalling their pace.

“What is THAT?” Caspar asked.

“An alarm?” Leonie guessed, she looked around. “It doesn’t sound like any bells I’ve ever heard, but this place is not normal.”

Ashe shifted his grip on the Bolt Axe. “Let’s hope it’s a ‘the large army reinforcements have arrived’ type of alarm and not a ‘the prisoners escaped and we’re coming behind them’ type.” 

“Does this mean I can stop being quiet?” Caspar asked.

“ _That_ was you being quiet?” Seteth balked. Byleth almost laughed at him, but then she caught a glimpse of what he was still carrying and turned her head away.

“Leonie?” Byleth asked, when she noticed that Leonie had stopped in front of a room. As Byleth got closer, she saw a body. They were uncomfortably strapped to a table, marks on their arms that appeared recent, and the smell of blood tinged the air.

Leonie let out an anguished cry and then slammed her fist into the wall. Caspar was walking towards her before Byleth could, but he stopped when he saw the body. “That’s…”

“Theo,” Ashe supplied. His eyes were unfocused as he stared at the room and his voice was quiet. “That could’ve been me.”

Byleth reached to squeeze Ashe’s shoulder, but considering Leonie’s reaction, kept the fact that she was glad it wasn’t to herself. She also kept quiet the tight twist in her chest that told her there were more rooms and one of them could have Sylvain in them like this.

Leonie was brushing off Caspar when Byleth focused on her again. She shook her head. “We have to keep moving, see if anyone made it.”

Byleth nodded, but before she could try to speak, she heard Seteth shout over the sound the blaring alarm. Byleth spun around and saw Flayn wobbling on her feet. She managed to steady herself when Byleth reached out, but she looked wan and exhausted. That spell must have over done it.

There was no way she was going to be able to keep going at this rate, but Byleth couldn’t leave Sylvain here if there was a chance he was in any situation like Leonie’s Theo. 

“Get her out,” Leonie said. “We’ll get Sylvain.”

“I can’t do that,” Byleth said.

Ashe’s mouth twisted and he looked over at Flayn and then back to Byleth. “You can,” he lowered his voice a little, so she could barely hear it over the blaring alarm, “they can’t go on their own like that.”

Byleth hated this. She stared at Ashe and then met Leonie’s eyes. “I’m coming back,” she said.

“Didn’t think you wouldn’t,” Leonie replied. She took the sword she’d been using and gave to Byleth. “Let’s not waste more time pretending this isn’t what’s happening. You wanted me to take the lead, this is where I’m leading.”

Byleth swallowed, nodded, and forced herself not to make a goodbye. She was coming back. 

Byleth helped Flayn walk as they made their way back out the way they’d come. The only noise was the loud strange alarm bells echoing through the halls. Seteth glanced at Flayn and frowned as she swayed a little on her feet while she was walking. Byleth grasped her arm more tightly and steadied her. Flayn needed rest, that much was clear. Hopefully she wouldn’t need five years of it.

“I’m not that old and out yet,” Seteth said, tersely as they walked.

“I know,” Byleth said. 

“And you are…” Seteth said, and cleared his throat, adjusting the weight of Rhea in his arms. “You are capable. With or without the Goddess’s influence. You are… an extraordinary person, Byleth.”

Byleth kept her eyes straight ahead, but felt Flayn’s fingers tighten on her arm. “And you are still very much family,” Flayn said.

“Stop talking like we’re going to lose,” Byleth said, her throat tight. She suddenly missed not getting emotional. 

“It needed to be said,” Seteth said. “And, for what is worth, Rhea did—”

“Wait,” Byleth said. The hall had opened up again, splitting into the barrier that covered the platform where she’d first been dragged in. To the right were several Agarthans already in view. It was too late to fall back and besides Byleth could see the path to the exit from here. The balconied ledge was a barrier that curled around in two directions. Thankfully the direction where their new Dance Partner friends were approaching from wasn’t the same way as where she knew an exit was.

“This way,” Byleth said, pushing at Seteth and dragging Flayn. They were being followed, but they were still out of range for now. “There’s a stairway and then a door, past that ledge, that leads outside.”

“I remember,” Flayn said. She was doing a bad job at keeping up, but wasn’t complaining about it. Seteth was looking at her in concern, which was also slowing him down and Byleth could hear the Agarthans getting closer. They were screwed if they followed them out. 

Byleth stopped at the ledge and turned around to gage how far out their enemies were. She hefted the sword in her hand, familiarizing herself with the weight of it. It wasn’t like she used a relic in the training yards. A sword was one of her first weapons and her most familiar. She knew how to use a sword. A _better_ sword would have been preferable, but there was no time to be picky. 

“What are you doing?” Seteth hissed from behind her once he’d noticed. 

Byleth turned over her shoulder to look at Seteth. “You have to go. If I can distract them long enough you should have a clear route out.”

“You are not going to present yourself as a sacrifice,” Seteth said, sharply. “Merely out of… some obligation.”

“Is there a _good_ reason to be a sacrifice?” Byleth asked, and then shook her head, biting off the automatic sarcasm. “I have no plans to throw myself at them or on my metaphorical sword, but I can’t fight if I’m worried about you both.”

“Promise that you will do nothing reckless,” Flayn demanded, a bit of color back in her face. 

“We both know that’s not going to happen,” Byleth said, with a smile and resisted the urge to hug her. “Yell at me later,” she added in Seteth’s direction. “Go.”

“I do not give you permission to die,” Seteth said, suddenly. It was stiff, awkward, and somehow completely serious.

Byleth’s smile widened. “I suppose I can listen to you once.” 

The noise he made was choked and then he nodded to Flayn and they made their way to the edge of the barrier. A little further and they’d be able to see the stairs that lead to the exit. Byleth just had to make sure they had the time to get there. 

“Okay,” she said, to only herself. “Let’s see what I can do.”

There were four of them. A bishop with a plague mask, two fighters, and another armored unit. Byleth went straight for the fighter wearing gauntlets, knowing he’d need to get in close range. She was able to avoid his blows with some quick footwork and by then she was too close for him to stop her from thrusting the sword forward. She pulled it out again, ignoring the familiar squelch of blood that made her think of that awful room and Leonie’s merc. 

Byleth was able to immediately counter the fighter with the axe as he came at her. She held up decently for the most part, but getting into the fighter’s range while still avoiding the armored unit _and_ keeping them both between her and the bishop was a bit more work than she wanted without a spell to throw them off. 

Byleth decided to take on faith that Flayn’s theory was right and made a glyph for the fire spell she tried not to use very often (due to the whole almost burning a classroom down incident no one would let her live down). The blast of flame was imprecise, but strong enough that Byleth could feel the heat blowing back on her as she cast it. It also had enough force to send the fighter and the armored unit to the ground. 

Byleth smirked and spun the sword around and they got to their feet. “I can work with this.” 

The armored unit was faster than the last one. Every time Byleth parried against the (scorched) fighter’s axe, the armored unit would try and push into her defenses. They were pushing her backwards, up against the ledge of the barrier. She’d either back up too close to the exit she was trying to keep them away from or fall over the ledge if she wasn’t careful. 

Byleth crouched and rolled to the side to get behind the fighter, making quick work of him. Almost simultaneously she used another fire spell to weaken the armor on the other one. She spun around and wedged her sword in between the platemail, taking him down. Unfortunately, even though she’d been able to take him out, he took her sword with him as he fell forward to the floor and it snapped in half, leaving her with only a jagged useless hilt. 

There was only the bishop left. His mask made him look like a strange bird. Now that she didn’t have any of his friends between them his gloved hands moved quickly to cast a volley of dark energy in her direction. Byleth threw another fire spell at him, but he flared out his arms to dispel it before it hit him. Byleth grunted, pushed forward, and for lack of anything better threw the broken piece of sword at him. 

It didn’t take him out, but it surprised him enough that she was able to grab the edge of the barrier and leverage her weight to kick him in the chest. The bishop’s plague mask fell off. He glared up at her, the traces of dark magic use crawling up and down his cheek bones in black ink. Byleth came towards him before he could get up, kicked him in the chest again, and then pressed her foot to his neck, hard enough to hurt, but not hard enough to break it. “Where did they take Sylvain Gautier?”

The bishop wheezed out a response under the pressure of her foot and Byleth let off a hairsbreadth so he could talk.

“You won’t win,” he said, uselessly.

Byleth resisted the urge to crush his trachea and pressed down again with her foot. “Answer the question.”

A moment of struggling and then she let up again. The fitful face of the dark bishop turned into a sulk. “I don’t work experiments.”

Unbelievable. It was infuriating enough to sound true. Byleth raised and then slammed her foot down hard enough that it either knocked him out or killed him and went to find one of the weapons the other ones were using.

Before she could pick up the discarded axe, another group of Agarthans came around the edge of the barrier that looked like a corner in this mad maze of a compound. Their rush stalled as they saw her. There were a lot more than four. 

One of them laughed. The gremory was wearing a veil like the one who killed Rhea had on, but her voice sounded lighter. “Planning on taking us all on alone, Fell Star?” she asked.

Byleth backed up and her foot hit the edge of the barrier. She briefly glanced over the edge to see how much of a drop it would be for someone without the Goddess’s protection to jump. What she saw instead was Dedue, Claude, and _Dimitri._

“No,” she said, smiling, “No, I’m not.”

So that was what it felt like when her heart skipped a beat.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pollo, the TWISTD janitor, keeps asking them to stop putting relics in his mop closet but they never listen


	38. Reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri finally reunites with Byleth and others as they take on the dangerous TWISTD security system.
> 
> (or, battle kisses are my only enjoyment in battle scenes)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! The rest of the chapters are in beta and I'm shooting for once a week or bi-weekly for the final posting schedule. I appreciate so much every comment and kudos and reader! This is my baby, so thank you so much for coming along for the ride. I hope the end chapters provide as much tension and satisfaction as you desire.
> 
> Also once again ty to Iz for the beta.
> 
> And check out this wonderful art I commissioned of [Genevieve](https://twitter.com/waffle_fancy/status/1303339898087247874?s=20) and [Valya and Baby Glenn](https://twitter.com/waffle_fancy/status/1303076997938049026?s=20)

Dimitri’s reign had not been free of bloodshed. The task of uniting three countries (which themselves were split) into one had not been an easy one. To add to that, many of the decisions he made were unpopular. Giving Kleiman to Duscur, as small a gesture of reparation as it was, had caused more than a little outrage by those less willing to bend the knee to a new way of ruling. Dimitri was also not a king who would stay behind the throne, hidden away, so he himself was not unfamiliar with bloodshed even after the war.

It had been years since he’d untethered himself from the restraints of honorable combat and humanity—as Felix used to call it—‘the boar’, but now he had abandoned all pretense as he swung  _ Areadbhar _ deeply into the gut of another enemy. 

He did not know if it was the fresh blood soaking his hands or the revelations about the woman who raised him, but between each step Dimitri took he could see that day in Duscur. And it was all that he could see.

_ The carriage had stopped unexpectedly before the slaughter started. His father’s knight, Ser Orlov, had risen immediately to investigate and then the blood from his neck had sprayed onto the attacker, giving them a ghastly visage. His father had taken care of that one, but there had been far too many for even a man such as Dimitri’s father to stand against. _

“It’s going to be hard to get reinforcements down here,” Claude said, as they descended a somewhat narrow staircase, drawing Dimitri back to the present.

“They must have another way out,” Dedue said, from behind him. “Or else they would not have managed that golem.”

“Maybe it can fly,” Claude said and then winced. “No, I take it back, not accidentally speaking that into existence. You’re right, there has to be another way.”

_ Glenn had gotten them out of the carriage—his hand was twisted painfully on the sleeve of Dimitri’s shirt and his eyes were to the battlefield. When Dimitri saw it now, Glenn looked painfully young, gray eyes widening as he turned and said, “Dimitri.” Not Your Highness, but his name. “Whatever happens, don’t move and don’t make a noise.” _

_ Dimitri surely had made some sort of objection, but Glenn had shaken him by the sleeve he was holding and angrily said, “Swear it.”  _

The memory was less clear after that. Dimitri remembered the blood, the screaming, the shielding of corpses from the men who scrounged the ground looking for any survivors after they slaughtered an entire contingent of people. He remembered standing amidst the field of bodies. 

He couldn’t remember his stepmother or her carriage or any words of leaving her alone. 

He remembered her calm presence. Her easy smile. Her patience. Dimitri remembered her asking for him to share the ride to Duscur with her, but not why she was refused. He remembered the feel of her palm on his head. He remembered her kindness. 

It was not beyond reason that a woman with a face such as that would also hold the capacity to set forth such an atrocity. He himself had worn more than one mask over the years. His rage and the cleansing satisfaction of violence had once twisted into his flesh and made it its home. 

They were all capable of such violence. 

“Huh,” Claude said as they hit the bottom of the stairs. “We went down and there’s an up.” He pointed upwards, at an upper floor stretching far out behind the confines of the area that they had stepped on. 

“Do you think there is another route there?” Dedue asked.

Claude shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt to check. We probably don’t want to make too many big moves until the rest of the — oh why did I even open my mouth?” 

The construct in front of them was much larger than the one that Ingrid had confronted outside. It reminded Dimitri vaguely of the large metal golems in the Holy Tomb. It held a sword larger than him and Dedue put together and swung it in a violent arc that sent a wave of magical force back towards them.

Dimitri was able to steady himself, Dedue seemed out of range, and Claude tumbled out of the way effortlessly. Quickly, Claude suggested moving towards its blind spot and so they did— however, it immediately spun the top half of its body in a fashion faster than Dimitri was expecting so that they were exposed again.

“Can’t believe I’m saying this, but it’d be nice if Ingrid was here,” Claude said. 

Dedue looked out into the distance and pointed somewhere behind it. “That mage appears to be controlling it.” 

“Can’t hit her from here,” Claude said, frowning and moving again as the golem advanced. “Maybe if we got the—” Claude was staring up, past the golem and the mage and he let out a laugh. “Or we could go up there and see if Teach wants to pitch in.”

It took Dimitri a moment to remember that he called Byleth that and his head snapped up to where he was looking. Byleth was making her way towards them and Dimitri irrationally had the urge to climb the wall, but followed Claude and Dedue’s lead in gaining distance from the golem and finding the path up.

When they found the stairs, Dimitri took them two at a time, uncaring of the likelihood of a misstep. He’d made it halfway up when Byleth appeared at the top of them. She smiled at him and he wasn’t able to ascend much further before she’d leapt down the distance and thrown her arms around his neck. 

The feel of Byleth in his arms and his lips on her, grounded him completely in the moment. Dimitri hooked an arm underneath her thighs to pull her further up and she dug her fingers into his scalp as her lips pressed against him. The brief respite ended when they broke for air and he noticed she had been followed. Dimitri moved Byleth to his side with one hand and threw  _ Areadbhar  _ with the other, impaling the archer at the top of the stairs.

“I was going to make a comment that you were having too much fun without us,” Claude said, flippantly, as Byleth unhooked her legs from Dimitri’s waist and set herself down, “but I see you saved some.”

Dedue handed her his short axe. “You have no weapon.”

“Thanks,” she said, and started up the stairs again. “I better not have missed your birthday!” she called back at him. 

Dedue gave a small smile in response. They ascended the rest of the steps, following shortly after. Fighting with his back to Byleth kept him in the present and with Claude providing covering fire and Dedue flanking to take the brunt of more physical damage, they were able to defeat her pursuers with little trouble.

Now out of combat, Dimitri had a chance to truly look at her. Byleth was out of breath. Her hair was an entirely different color than it had been the last time he’d seen her. Dimitri pushed aside some dark teal strands with the sharp tips of his gauntlet. If it had been the hair only it might not have been so strange, but her eyes had also softened into a shade of blue that was only familiar in memory. 

Byleth shot him a tired smile. “It’s a long story.”

Claude was crouched by one of their combatants, picking through recoverable arrows. He looked up. “You are no longer at one with the Goddess?”

Byleth’s mouth twisted and she looked over her shoulder at him. “Okay, it’s a short story.”

“I mean I  _ have _ follow-up questions,” Claude said, getting to his feet. 

Byleth turned her head back to Dimitri and pressed her bare hand to his face. “There’s something else… I—I don’t know how to tell you his, but your stepmother is alive.”

Which meant she was here and not a myth or lie that Genevieve had somehow invented. Dimitri felt no surprise, but the smallest flicker of disappointment still rose in him. “I know,” he said, “that is also a long story.” He took in the marks on Byleth’s wrists and the exhaustion she was always good at hiding. “Are you all right?”

Byleth nodded, which wasn’t exactly an answer—though it may have had to be enough for the moment. Then she went up on her toes to kiss his cheek, purposefully mollifying him, before turning back around. “Not that I am not very happy to see you all, but where’s everyone else?”

“They are still engaged outside,” Dedue said. 

“You know this place has walking corpses?” Claude asked. “Like actual living dead, not one of those stories that would freak out Lysithea.” 

Byleth stared at him for a moment and narrowed her eyes, then quickly shook her head and turned back to Dimitri. “Can they spare you? Because—”

Her words were cut off by a sharp familiar yell. They rushed to look down over the edge and saw that Ingrid, Raphael, and Marianne were engaged in combat with what appeared to be a  _ second  _ golem.

“How are these things getting  _ in _ here?” Claude sounded exasperated. Byleth made a comment briefly to him and then they both conferred before pointing off into the distance. There was no time to ask what they were speaking on, and so they wasted no time making their way back down to assist. 

Ingrid flew towards them on her pegasus. “The mage seems to be controlling them!” she shouted, and then dove out of the way as a slicing wave of magic threatened to unseat her. Dimitri was only just able to avoid it himself. He checked to see that Byleth and Dedue had as well, before glancing over at the others.

“Those shields are really weird!” Raphael added, not quite a shout, but somehow as loud. He demonstrated his point by throwing an axe towards the nearest golem. For the speed it was going and the accuracy of the pitch, it should have landed, but instead bounced off an invisible barrier as if it were one of the children bouncing on the bed.

“We need to take that mage out,” Claude said. It seemed directed towards Byleth.

She nodded, though her eyes were focused on the battlefield. A familiar look throughout the war and academy, of sizing up the enemy. “If we can cover Ingrid…”

The nearer of the two golems moved forward in a loud creaking rush and slammed its metal club into the ground, shaking everything beneath it and knocking Marianne off her feet. Dimitri and the rest of them steadied themselves while Raphael helped Marianne back up.

“We need to be more careful,” she said, before they were attacked again.

The only warning was an unfamiliar crackling noise—the thunder to the lightning—of a magical attack that sprayed from beneath the shaken floor by Raphael’s feet. 

“Ow,” he said, nearly falling over himself. Marianne simultaneously pulled him out of range and covered the arm she was still grasping with healing light.

“Avoid the invisible booby traps!” Claude called out, shrugging his shoulders with a relaxed smile, when Byleth shot him a skeptical eye.

“That noise,” Dedue said. “It seemed to come from beneath, where the attack was from. Before the floor split. I believe there was a pattern on that tile.”

“Call any others out if you see them,” Byleth said and shifted on her feet. She turned towards Claude and they conferred again, before calling out directions for them all to move. 

Dimitri noted they worked well together. He didn’t think he was jealous, but it was discomfiting to see how much only the last month had changed their interactions. 

With the admittedly expert instructions of both Claude and Byleth they made several more attempts to engage the golems. The barriers seemed to be impenetrable; Even utilizing  _ Atrocity _ with  _ Areadbhar _ was unable to break through, merely shaking the barrier enough to see a thin pink light erupting from the spot to the other side. An attempt to hit the same spot again also failed. 

They tried to distract the golem while Ingrid engaged with the mage, but after several attempts failed (the route was too small for her to weave into without putting her and her pegasus directly into the line of fire) Byleth called her back. Judging by the grim determination on Ingrid’s face, that was likely the wise course of action. Dimitri did not want to lose her on some heated bullrush.

The metal soldiers were faster than their size should warrant and it made engaging one over the other difficult. Byleth and Claude’s strategy for retreat to put them at a safe distance seemed to be the only thing that had any effect and even that was only temporary until the golems advanced again.

“These guys are killing me,” Claude said. “They’ve got to have a weakness we’re missing.”

They needed reinforcements. “How far are the others?” Dimitri asked Ingrid.

“They were just behind us,” Ingrid said. “Holst’s troops seem to be keeping most of them busy but, whatever those  _ wrong _ fighters are, there are a lot of them and they don’t seem to go down by normal methods.” 

Claude looked up in the direction of the mage, frowning. “Something must be controlling them out there too.”

“Patricia,” Byleth said. Dimitri couldn’t help but turn to look at her. She held the axe Dedue had handed her aloft and was staring up in the same direction as Claude. “She seemed to have some control over Nemesis—maybe that was the project they were working on. Ashe said something about them doing experiments on villagers.”

Dimitri's thoughts immediately turned to Remire and a sick twist in his throat came at him, threatening to pull him back into the easy abyss of violence and the dead. If  _ she _ had been responsible for the deaths of Dimitri’s father, his friend, countless good knights of the kingdom, then what were a few villagers? 

“Really starting to dislike these guys,” Claude said. He turned back towards them, his eyebrows lowered and his mouth twisted. “I think I have an idea, but it’d be easier with more people.”

As if he’d summoned them with his words, a soft blur of magic formed before them and Annette and Felix with it soon after. The smell of lingering magic still in the air from the  _ Warp _ spell. 

“That’ll work,” Claude said, expression morphing into ease again. 

Felix and Annette made their way forward quickly. They all were keeping in step with avoiding the golems who were making their way closer with each diversion. 

“Felix,” Byleth said and held her hand out, “Sword.”

Felix barely looked at her, and merely removed a sword from his belt, tossing it to her from the side. Byleth deftly caught it and then handed Dedue back his axe. She looked more at ease with it in her hand, but Dimitri couldn’t help but wonder where the  _ Sword of the Creator _ had gone.

Dedue slid his short axe back onto his armored back and approached Annette and Felix. “The mage appears to be shielding these creatures somehow.”

“We saw,” Annette said, pointing upwards. The opposite direction from which they’d met with Byleth. The top level of this strangely colored hall had a few distinct figures. The green was likely Linhardt, but the red appeared to be Sylvain, which had Dimitri worryingly questioning his memory—he hadn’t been with them when they’d marched. Had he? 

“Are they okay up there?” Claude asked, as Byleth asked, “Were Leonie and Ashe with you?”

Claude turned back towards her. “Leonie’s here?” 

“Save the chit chat,” Felix said, sharply. He pointed his sword behind them. “Rear advance.” 

Annette gasped fairly dramatically, while Marianne said, “oh no,” and Raphael scratched his head. When Dimitri turned towards where they were looking he saw those strange creatures—twisted humans like in Remire. Except many of their faces and clothes were familiar. In the mix of the ones that attacked them outside, there were also ones that appeared to be from Holst’s reinforcement, and Kingdom Soldiers.

There was a cold lurch in Dimitri’s stomach, the only recognizable emotion, before his entire being shifted into an anger that spread through his limbs. It centered on that woman who was responsible for  _ this _ —who could only have been responsible for Remire as well. The sharp breaking betrayal he’d felt when the Flame Emperor had been revealed as El was back tenfold. 

The mother he’d mourned was responsible for one of the greatest tragedies of Dimitri and so many others’ lives.

He felt a give in the unbreakable spear as his fist tightened around  _ Areadbhar _ .

He could feel Byleth’s eyes on him, but she directed her words to Claude. “What was your idea?”

“Well…” Claude said, scratching his head and frowning at the scene, as if it were only a minor inconvenience. “With a few revisions now I think we—”

He was cut off by another flare of magic, sharper this time, and another group of allies appearing in front of them. 

Hilda hoisted  _ Freikugel _ over her shoulder, looking pleased. “That was way easier than fighting our way through!”

“Told you,” Lysithea said. Next to her were Cyril and Ignatz.

The latter of which seemed to address them first. “We thought you might need some assistance.”

“Yeah, with the zombies,” Cyril added, pointing behind him.

“They’re not zombies!” Lysithea protested. “They’re people manipulated somehow, but one cannot be a  _ dead _ creature that walks! That’s! They’re not!” 

Claude seemed to find that amusing, as his smile was reaching his eyes now. “All right then, Teach?” he asked Byleth. “How’d you feel about redoing that game of keep-away you and Ingrid were going for in the Temple?”

Byleth gripped her sword and gave a mirthless smile. “I feel like lighting things on fire now sounds great.”

The need for swift movement was clear and Byleth took Marianne, Felix, and Annette with her to the east of the golems’ current positions, while Claude directed Dimitri, Ingrid, and Lysithea towards the west. That left Raphael, Dedue, and Hilda to set up defensively behind them to keep back the puppeted bodies, and Cyril and Ignatz to stay a pace behind to keep watch.

The ‘keep-away’ game, as Claude referred to it, amounted to attacking both golems from each side, in an effort to lure their attention between both groups too quickly to properly attack. It seemed to work, though it was unsatisfying to fight a beast that would not be felled, and did nothing to crush the dark anger rising in Dimitri.

Dimitri steadied himself while Ingrid and Claude used the distraction to fly on her pegasus and their combined effort was able to remove the mage’s influence. Dimitri waited for the barriers to fall so that he could take out his aggression on their metallic hides.

The mage was felled.

The barriers, however, remained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From now on, Hilda tries to convince Lysithea to warp her places so that she doesn't have to walk.


	39. Romantic Rescues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While the fight goes on below, Sylvain, Linhardt, and Gen attempt to distract themselves.
> 
> (or, Sylvain is not at all overwhelmed with stress and trauma)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for the kudos and comments and just generally <3 for reading at all. I really hope you enjoy the end. I am going to do my best to post every Friday until the end. 
> 
> Once again lovely thanks to Iz for the beta.

In terms of romantic rescues, Sylvain wasn’t feeling this one. Felix hadn’t said a word to him since they’d found their way to the top with Cleo’s directions.

“Nothing you said proves they’re not vampires,” Sylvain said to Annette, who’d been catching him up with apparently the  _ mountain _ of context he’d missed during his delightful imprisonment.

“They can go out in sunlight,” Annette countered. Which… was a fair point. Dimitri’s weedily little steward had been out in broad daylight planning against them the whole time. Thinking about how many times that piece of shit passed him in the halls made the hairs on the back of Sylvain’s neck stand up.

Although that also might have been the fact that he still wasn’t wearing a shirt.

And yet Felix remained, saying nothing. Maybe he did need to train more.

When Felix finally did say something, it was more of an angry grunt as he slammed his hands against the side of a weird looking railing. 

Annette skipped over and the small upset noise she made wasn’t reassuring. “Where are the rest of the forces?”

Sylvain, with assistance, moved towards the small wall blocking their exit route and angled his head over the edge. Then he immediately wished he hadn’t. The Professor, Dimitri, Dedue, Ingrid, (and… Claude?) were overwhelmed by two giant metal doll things. They didn’t look like they had a handle on the situation. Sylvain really didn’t want to die here after a disappointingly unromantic rescue and would at least like to have gotten eye contact from his husband again before it happened. 

Linhardt suddenly dropped his arm and moved closer, making Sylvain almost lose his balance—which made Sylvain shift all his weight onto Genevieve, which almost made  _ her _ lose her balance. 

Linhardt’s lips pursed to a thin line as he looked over the edge. Sylvain didn’t know him too well, but he was pretty sure that meant he was worried. “I can warp us there.”

Annette glanced back at Sylvain and bit her lip. “I don’t think that's the best idea.”

Felix’s grip on his sword was as tight as the line of muscles in his shoulders. He was still glaring out at the scene of the fight that wasn’t going very well. He jerked his head towards Linhardt, “Can you warp twice?”

Linhardt frowned even harder at him and then sighed. “Yes.”

“Felix?” Annette asked softly, figuring out whatever it was that Felix and Linhardt were getting at before Sylvain could put it together.

(Usually he’d be quicker, but the whole distracted by Felix being mad at him, or upset, or traumatized by this situation and Sylvain having absolutely no way to make him feel better or do anything—plus the whole  _ what the fuck _ was going on thing, made him a bit slower on the uptake in reading Felix.)

“Do you have a better idea?” Felix snapped. He didn’t usually sound that harsh with Annette.

“No,” Annette said back, peevishly. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“I don’t like any of this if that helps,” Sylvain said, trying to butt his way into the conversation so they didn’t forget he was here.

Felix turned towards him and took the few steps closer like he was walking to the gallows. His jaw was tight and he shoved a sword at Genevieve.

“I already told you—” Genevieve started, but Felix didn’t let her finish.

“The sharp end goes into people.” His expression and voice were harsh, but then something softened. “Just… take it.”

The  _ music instructor _ took the sword from him, holding it loosely, and even to Sylvain’s passable at best sword technique it looked more like she was about to cut a cake than use it in a fight. 

Felix looked somewhere to the left of Sylvain, still not making any sort of eye contact. “No foolish heroics,” he said.

“I’m not that useless,” Sylvain lied. He was  _ exhausted _ , but he didn’t want to worry Felix more than he already had.

Felix glared at the floor and then turned around with no send off kiss, love declaration, and even without calling him an insulting pet name. “Warp down when it’s clear,” Felix said to Linhardt.

“Please and thank you,” Annette said, with an obviously forced smile. 

Linhardt looked down again at their overwhelmed friends and then turned towards Annette and Felix. A warm glow encompassed them and they disappeared from sight, before reappearing down below where all the danger Sylvain couldn’t help with was.

Sylvain didn’t like fighting. Hated it, in fact. The years of peace since the war and lack of daily training required to cut down friends and enemies alike was a relief beyond measure. Still, Sylvain could barely contain the urge to shake another warp out of Linhardt to send him down there where he could do something. The only thing Sylvain hated more than fighting was the people he loved fighting without him.

Sylvain wasn’t in tip-top form, to say the least, but he could at least provide a bodily shield for Felix. Felix was angry, but worse than that potentially distracted… what if he made a mistake and Sylvain wasn’t there to have his back? 

Sylvain couldn’t look and he couldn’t not look.

He tried dropping his arm from Genevieve’s shoulders and was a little woozy but mostly able to stand, so that was something. Once he was settled on his feet he looked her up and down, trying to fit in all of the facts Annette had brought him up to speed on—which had been somehow enlightening and more confusing all at once.

“So,” Sylvain asked, because if he could do anything, it was lightening the mood or at least being a distraction, “what  _ was _ that whole you have ‘no interest in nobles or married men, in that order’ thing about?”

Genevieve had been staring at the sword Felix shoved at her like it was a puzzle to figure out. She glanced up at him. “Why does that matter?”

“Because I’m bored and need distracting,” Sylvain said. He did not look over the wall to see how the fight was going. “Take pity on me. It has to be a juicy story!” 

“It’s not,” Genevieve said, dryly.

“I don’t believe you.”

Genevieve sighed and stared off into the distance where the weird half wall curved around again. Sylvain wondered if there was a way down there, but couldn’t bring himself to check. Physically or emotionally.

“Nobles,” Genevieve said, “have never actually worked a day in their life. Minus  _ maybe _ fighting the wars they started—yet they somehow still think their random chance of birth makes them better than everyone else. It’s not exactly charming.” She glanced at him again. “No offense.”

Sylvain shrugged, enjoying the feel of his shoulders being able to do that again. “No, that’s fair.”

Linhardt was still leaning over the edge with his eyes on the battle, but he’d been listening, because he added, “That’s pretty on the nose actually.”

Sylvain snorted. He’d taken that at face value, but then observed the way Genevieve shifted on her feet and how the silence spread out—his brain clicked.

“Wait a minute,” he said, “that can’t be it, because then you would’ve only said you don't want to date nobles. You wouldn’t have added the married thing. There has to be more to it!”

Genevieve’s face flushed so pink that she could’ve given Lysithea or Felix a run for their money. “It’s none of your business.”

Shit. That story  _ had _ to be good. Sylvain had never wanted a distraction more in his life. Not to mention he could use this later and dangle it over Annette’s head for bribes, maybe get her to help Felix forgive him for getting kidnapped. “Genevieve,” Sylvain said, practically purring and honestly delighted by the eye roll he got in response, “I have already proven I can talk my way out of anything. I seduced a vampire. I can get you to tell me.” 

“I doubt it,” Genevieve said. She rubbed her face as if she could physically excise the blush from it.

“Take pity on me, Gen,” Sylvain whined. “I’ve been through a horrible trauma, I’ve—” He noticed a slip of skin showing from between Genevieve’s gloves and her sleeve while she rubbed her face. The scars there reminded him that she had also apparently been through the same thing. He sobered a little.

“Not to be completely shallow,” Sylvain said, “but uh, are these going to be permanent?” 

When she looked over at him, he gestured to the inky upraised path where Charsis’s acid-filled hell had torn through his body. It still looked gross, which maybe was why no one was really looking at him or admiring the view. 

Genevieve looked back at his face. “How many times did she do it?”

The idea of going through that hell more than once made Sylvain nauseated and he almost lost his balance again. “Once.”

“Then you’re probably fine,” Genevieve said. She pulled down her sleeve to cover the sliver of skin and started fiddling with the sword handle again. How old had she been when she went through all of this? 

Fuck. “How many times did you…”

“I lost count,” Genevieve said, turning away from him.

Sylvian hated awkward silences, especially ones he’d caused. And even more especially ones when he was trying to not be terrified about a fight going on that he was uselessly sitting on the sidelines for. The Goddess above—or the general Universe, as they kept doing—cursed him for the mere thought and the awkward silence broke from Linhardt’s swearing.

Sylvain made himself look over the edge again. “What?”

Sylvain followed Linhardt’s finger which was pointing up in the distance. Sylvain could see Ingrid and (probably) Claude flying down from a platform with a body hanging over the edge. Judging by what he could see of the blurred black figure, it was probably one of the vampires. Good riddance.

That didn’t explain the swearing.

Linhardt then pointed back to the mechanical monsters his husband and friends (more friends from the looks of it at least) were still fighting. He couldn’t see far enough to know if they were being attacked from the other angle, but he did see a lot of friendly figures facing that way. 

“They killed the mage,” Linhardt said, “but it hasn’t seemed to affect the mechanical knights. There still appears to be some sort of shield up that attacks are not breaking through.” 

Sylvain ignored the way his stomach dropped. “That isn’t good, but the Professor is down there, she’ll figure it out.”

Linhardt turned to frown at him. “If she or Claude have not already figured it out, it’s unlikely they will do so now. They’re scrambling, even with reinforcements.” He pursed his lips and stared out again, squinting at the mechanical dolls. “There has to be some other source for those shields. If it were inside the dolls, there’d still need to be an external power source or something controlling them—these people do not seem to be thoughtless in their designs for destruction. I do not think they’d let an immortal metal beast run rampant in their own facility. Probably not, anyway.”

Sylvain moved closer to the edge. He squinted down, trying to see better at what Linhardt was pointing at, even while his vision kept popping him over towards what he knew was Felix. There was a pink blur that could have only been Hilda (considering Claude was here), and some others, but also… “What is that?” Sylvain asked, pointing at a flicker of light behind the two mechanical dolls. 

Linhardt followed Sylvain’s finger and then his eyes skimmed past where he’d pointed. He tilted his head upwards, following the trail of something with an inquisitive eye, looking at another level above him. “They seem to be connected to something. A new kind of magical transference?” 

Sylvain thought of the magic pen and the unbelievable things Cleo had told him about these people and this place while he’d been working on talking his way out. (He hoped she and the kids got out.) “They have some insane advances here, mechanical ones… technology anyway, some of it doesn’t use magic. Cleo was telling me about electrical transference? It runs most of their lights and tools through some kind of current, I forget which metal conducted it, but—”

Linhardt’s green eyebrows had been steadily climbing higher as Sylvain talked and now he cut him off with a wave of his hand. “I have read studies on that! Electrical manifestation—Almyra has some places that have been working with the effect for their water filtration and I…” He shook his head once and then drew his vision back towards the roped line that trailed from that first flickering glow all the way up to the higher floors. “We need to cut the connection.”

“Can we do that from here?” Sylvain asked. He looked at the trail again, trying to see an easy spot to attack it from. He wasn’t sure they could from this angle either. And getting that news downstairs also seemed like it would be difficult. If they’d only run into Caspar, he could’ve yelled his way out. (Sylvain hoped the guy was doing okay—although he selfishly hoped more so that Ashe and Leonie were.)

Linhardt seemed to have another idea. “There is some kind of booth near the ceiling where the connection ends. If I get us up there, we can find a way to disconnect the system.”

Also giving Sylvain something to actually do rather than stand around watching all the people he cared about in danger. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

“Ah, excuse me,” Genevieve said from behind them. Linhardt and Sylvain turned back to her, Sylvain a little guilty he’d forgotten she was there. She looked incredibly irritated, which if she’d been holding that sword correctly might have been threatening. “I thought you  _ didn’t _ have a death wish?” she asked—and unsurprisingly that seemed to be directed to Linhardt. (Not a thing Sylvain had ever been accused of.) “What if there’s a mage up there that’s controlling it and we land right next to them?”

“You have a sword,” Sylvain said, unhelpfully. 

“You’re not wrong,” Linhardt said, “but the alternative is to stay here and do nothing while we watch our friends die. Or, if you prefer, I could leave you here unattended and vulnerable to anyone else who might recognize you.”

The tension in the stare-off, of two fairly lithe people who shouldn’t seem intimidating, was unnerving. Linhardt had a stoic look to him, but his blue eyes were warmer than Genevieve’s blues that were almost black giving them a sharp pointed advantage. When the tension had passed long enough that Sylvain was about to call a cat fight to break it, Genevieve tore her gaze away. She slammed the sword into the floor, which seemed to surprise her. 

Then she let out a frustrated whine. “Don’t take that job in Saben, Dorothea said, I have this great opportunity for you in Fhirdiad—it’ll give you time to work on your opera.” 

Linhardt took that as a concession, which it seemed to be because Genevieve stepped closer into the warp circle once Linhardt started the spell. Sylvain’s stomach wasn’t at its peak to get thrown magically into another room, but he mostly managed to stumble into the wall rather than flat on his face on the floor. Upsides. Staying positive. 

Another upside, there was no one in the weird ass room they were in. There was just...

“The hell is this?” Sylvain asked. The closest thing he’d seen was a musical instrument, but a harpsichord didn’t have so many buttons and wasn’t usually embedded into the wall. 

“It’s a larger model of a control box,” Linhardt said, examining it from each angle. “I’ve seen sketches of experiments done—it works to give physical control over the energy dispersal so that the timing of whatever function it is channeling energy for can continue. An advanced version of a gas torch light.”

That made sense. In the way that anything in this place made sense.

“So we have to figure out how to snuff out the candle?” Sylvain asked.

Linhardt nodded.

They both examined the control box thing for any kind of indication of what would disconnect the scary glowing keyboard from the shielding system down below. Linhardt and Sylvain rattled off a few theories as they went. Linhardt was actually pretty easy to skip ideas off of—if they’d still been in the Academy, Sylvain would’ve made a note of that. A few of their attempts didn’t do much—one seemed to turn off another side of the keyboard, but didn’t affect anything downstairs. Another seemed to intensify the shielding based on Linhardt’s observations and was difficult to get back to its ‘off position’ that was the opposite of where it was currently at. Sylvain jammed his finger and thumb wedging it back into place. 

Linhardt was in the middle of suggesting another idea when a sword sliced through the air and impaled itself into the metal, crashing into the strange switches and glowing bits, which in turn slowly went dark. 

They both turned to look at Genevieve, still holding the hilt of Felix’s sword. “You hit things and they break,” she offered as an explanation. “It isn’t that complicated.” 

Sylvain’s laugh escaped a little wildly from his chest. “Not a bad hit for someone who doesn’t know how to hold that thing.”

“It worked,” Linhardt exclaimed, pointing down towards the blur of figures Sylvain could absolutely not see from here. He could, however, see that whatever light had been glowing over them was gone. 

The relief that flooded Sylvain’s system should’ve tipped him off that this was only a distraction for another kick to the gonads from the Goddess or Universe at large. Instead, he was surprised, when the sickly sweet venomous voice of his torturer came from the doorway they’d missed opening.

“That was expensive equipment,” Charsis said. She narrowed her focus on Sylvain in a way that sent his nuts into his throat. “ _ You’re _ expensive equipment.”

Years without consistent training (and honestly the trauma of however long he’d been down here  _ and _ Felix being mad at him) ruined Sylvain’s reflexes. He didn’t react quickly enough to Charsis’s appearance. Too late, he’d tried to get Gen behind him where Linhardt was—but she was frozen in place, barely breathing. 

Sylvain didn’t have a weapon or the strength to drag her behind, so he’d mostly fallen forward, uselessly clutching onto her shoulder.

Sylvain did the only thing he could think of, he blabbed. “I needed a refreshing walk. And you know, swords slip out of hands sometimes, into weird keyboard things—do you play any instruments?” 

Charsis didn’t look amused, which was and wasn’t reassuring. She had a couple of grunts near, but Sylvain at the moment wasn’t worried about dying by sword, spear, or axe. His veins still thrummed with phantom pain in the hollow of the crest-activated trail she’d ripped through his body—he felt more exposed not wearing a shirt as she looked him over.

Worse… he didn’t realize until it was too late that she wasn’t looking at  _ him _ .

Charsis’s face lit up in recognition. Very much like when Cleo had eyed Gen earlier in his torture cage. The recognition turned into a slow, satisfied smile.

“ _ Kitten _ ,” Charsis said. The word curled around her pink mouth in a way that was going to make Sylvain hate it forever. 

He felt Gen tense even more beneath his hand, trembling beneath his grip. He tried, fruitlessly, to stand taller and draw some attention off her—or to use his body as a shield like he’d thought of earlier, but he couldn’t draw up the energy.

Charsis practically beamed. She drew one manicured hand to the bare spot on her own chest, literally ruffling the feathers on her shoulders as she did so. “Oh, Kitten… did you know how often I’ve thought of you falling into my lap like this? All of that fun,” her expression darkened a little, morphing her pretty features into a thing better matching her ugly insides, “and years of research  _ wasted _ over a tantrum by Thales’s worthless half-breed.” 

Charsis’s expression smoothed out again into a placid smile. “My only little survivor—all grown up and still a success. I was certain you’d bled out somewhere, but here you are back again.” She held her arms out in a mockery of luring an embrace, which caused both Gen and Sylvain to step back. “My favorite little pet making her way home.”

Gen’s voice shook more than her body still was. “This  _ isn’t _ home.”

Charsis looked amused, as she dropped her hands to her hips. “Isn’t it?” she asked. “It’s where I made you. You, the poor little forgotten gutter trash, before we took you in. After months of my artful hand and Myson’s brilliant mind, you  _ blossomed _ into a true prize.” 

“I wasn’t forg—” Gen cut herself off, looking away from Charsis’s smirk.

Charsis took another step forward. “It’s all right, my pet. You’re wanted here. Do you know how valuable you are?” Her eyes locked in on Gen and Sylvain wondered if he had enough strength to do something really stupid (but maybe effective) to get her attention—his tongue felt like lead in his mouth. 

Charsis reminded Sylvain of a beast sizing up its prey. She gave an exceedingly false sounding sigh. “We tried with so many other little kittens, but they just couldn’t swim. Nobody had the fight in them.” She tilted her head and smiled as if reminiscing on something fond. Then she said, “Or your melodic scream.”

Charsis’s smile was sharp and frankly terrifying. Sylvain, for once, was still at a loss what to say. All he could think about was that fucking pain and how vulnerable he’d he been and was. Everything narrowed to that moment, as Charsis advanced. 

“I missed that scream, but first things first… I don’t like your hair like that, Kitten. What’s say we—”

A spell (from Linhardt, who was behind him, Sylvain’s stuttering brain supplied) cast over Sylvain’s shoulder—Charsis avoided it, sliding to the right deftly and it hit one of her silent goons behind. She laughed with the derision of someone who didn’t think there was a threat—usually Sylvain enjoyed being underestimated like that, because he could actually do something.

Charsis stared at Linhardt with the kind of amusement Sylvain could picture for a person who thought his father was charming. 

That harrying thought brought him back to the moment a little and he squeezed Gen’s shaking shoulder in reassurance, before managing to move forward an inch and feel his tongue again.

“Is your hair natural?” Sylvain asked Charsis, with his best (and worst) leer—the kind he’d use on Felix before Felix threw a shoe at him and told him to dip his dick in the snow. “I mean, do the carpets match the drapes? Or  _ is _ there carpet? You seem like the type to prefer freshly glazed stonework.” 

He’d wanted to piss her off a little, distract her, but Charsis appeared unimpressed, almost bored. She raised one of her manicured hands, curling the fingers in the air and then spread them out again. For a cold, terrifying second Sylvain felt the echo and build-up of every single trace of that acidic pain tearing through his system—but then warmth broke through that terror as a blinding white magic spell burst forth from…not Linhardt.

Gen had blasted an extremely powerful spell. Probably not unlike whatever she’d done that had removed Cord’s head. 

Of course—the universe being what it was—the impressive scorched gaping hole was  _ not _ in Charsis’s head, but somewhere to her right. Charsis was still, staring at the path the magic had taken and at the wall. Then her entire posture shifted into  _ somehow _ more predatory and she smiled at Gen, fangs out.

“You  _ missed _ ?” Linhardt balked from behind them. Sylvain couldn’t blame him, because what the fuck?

“Do it again!” Sylvain said to Gen’s trembling outstretched arm, inches away from Charsis now.

“I—” Gen didn’t get to finish, because Charsis grasped her hand with her own and brought her other up in the same pattern as before—and the visceral pain came back with a vengeance. Sylvain didn’t know if the strangled stream was him or Gen—fire shot through his blood burning out every trace of cognizance. 

Then the pain stopped abruptly. Sylvain was on the floor. He registered this, where his knees had fallen—they hurt, but it was insubstantial. He looked up and saw Charsis slump forward as if she were a top-heavy feed sack, landing on the ground face first. Pink hair spilled around the blood oozing from her skull. 

Above her was one of the most beautiful sights Sylvain had ever seen.

“Marry me,” Sylvain wheezed to a tired, beat-up Leonie, holding the blunt end of a weapon covered in Charsis’s blood. “I’ll check with Felix first, obviously. He might already be drawing up divorce documents for me for getting into this situation. Oh fuck— _ Ashe _ !” If it wasn’t the burning pain ebbing that was making Sylvain’s eyes sting, relief sure as shit was doing it. “You’re okay!” 

“Are you?” Ashe asked, stepping around the body of one of the goons—they were both down now. Ashe put the bow he was holding onto his back and approached Sylvain with the kind of concern that said a lot about his current state. Gen was next to Sylvain on the floor, face down, her hands covering her head.

Relief swept Sylvain’s system as it all came to clarity that he wasn't going to live forever in the distilled essence of pain. He nudged Gen, while grabbing Ashe’s hand (and then hands, because he needed a lot of help) to get up. “The scenery is beautiful,” Sylvain stage whispered as he stood. He wobbled on his feet but forced himself to take a few steps forward, before kicking Charsis’s body as hard as he could—to make sure she couldn’t get up again. The body didn’t twitch, merely shuddered underneath the impact of his kick. Satisfying.

Leonie did not look impressed with him, which wasn’t fair—it wasn’t like he  _ usually _ kicked corpses. This was special torture-related circumstances. Before he could tell her that, he noticed the weapon she was holding that she’d used to kill the pink snake. The  _ Lance of Ruin _ upside down, blood on its less pointed edge. He groaned as she offered it to him. “Couldn’t you have lost this? Like, can  _ one  _ good thing come out of my traumatic kidnapping?”

“Mm,” Leonie said, and then gestured towards Gen whom Ashe, with Linhardt’s help, was hauling to her feet. “Friend of yours?”

“The crown prince’s music tutor,” Sylvain said, enjoying the utter confusion on Leonie’s face. It was nice not being the only one completely out of the loop.

Sylvain really hoped they hadn’t tortured her and Ashe too.

“Lin?” Caspar’s very loud (and therefore immediately familiar) voice came from somewhere behind Leonie.

Linhardt paled, removing himself from assisting Gen and stepped forward, grabbing urgently at Caspar’s shoulders as he came into view. “Caspar? I—I thought you were dead!”

Caspar stared blankly at him and then said, “Huh.” He scratched his head and then looked over at Ashe. “Did I accidentally fake my death?” 

Ashe smiled at him like an idiot. Now Leonie’s earlier comments about Ashe being nervous around Caspar started to make sense. Sylvain wondered how long past the trauma of this he would have to wait before he started relentlessly wheedling Ashe about it. He attempted at least an eyebrow wiggle, but Ashe was pointedly ignoring him to make gooey eyes at Caspar. Caspar was busy reassuring Linhardt in a loud voice that he was very much alive.

Linhardt laughed, some mix of relief and annoyance, and said, “Yes, I can see that.” 

Gen was still standing next to Ashe, but was mostly on her own feet now. Leonie took a step forward and was staring at her a little too intently. Considering Leonie had just killed the scariest goddamn woman Sylvain had ever met (and that was including Lady Rhea and the Professor), the possibly suspicious stare towards Gen was not good. 

“She’s with us,” he said.

Leonie flicked her eyes towards him. “You do seem to pick up girls wherever you go.” Fairly uncharitable from his future second spouse, Sylvain thought.

“It’s not like that!” Sylvain protested. He felt relieved to have the option to dick around and waved his arms a little to prove he still could. “Gen is a  _ friend _ . A confidant, a fellow torture victim, a—”

Gen—with a much steadier voice than before—interrupted them, “Can we  _ please _ get the fuck out of here?”

Leonie cocked an eyebrow and then snorted before turning around with a smirk and stepping towards the door. “Never mind, this one is clearly too smart for you.”

“Hey!” Sylvain called from behind her, Ashe, Caspar, Linhardt, and Gen following—the euphoria of there being an end to this was palpable and putting his giddiness into overdrive, so he couldn’t even pretend to be actually insulted.

That should’ve been the first sign that the Goddess or the Universe was going to knee him straight in the balls again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caspar starts to worry that maybe he is dead and he's actually a ghost. Ashe reassures him while Linhardt is relieved that Caspar is _definitely_ back.


	40. Let's Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude and Byleth ready for round two against the ancient Fell King.
> 
> (or, no more actions scenes after this)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter and an Epilogue to go. Want to thank everyone who has stuck with it so far (or in the future to anyone reading this when its finished)! (Also ty to Iz for the beta)

Claude may have been—for all appearances—lucky, but that was not an accurate term for the reality. The reality was that he worked tooth and claw to get to the point where all of his exhaustive effort _appeared_ effortless. Claude having luck thrown his way—in the sense of fortuitous timing—not to mention relief that he hadn’t done any work to set up the result… that was new.

“Their shields are down!” Raphael said, as usual pointing out the obvious. Claude missed that. 

“Hey, Teach,” Claude called over, “You ever played billiards?”

She raised an eyebrow at him and he mimed racking one up. Teach smiled and caught on. Soon enough after that, the powder keg that was Lysithea, Byleth, and Annette blasted one of the metallic beasties right into the other one, slamming it into the wall behind. If there was anything left of them after that, the King of United Fódlan seemed to be taking care of it.

That just left… as Cyril called them, zombies. 

“We never figured out how to cure them in Remire,” Ingrid said next to him. She sounded resigned. Claude remembered hearing about that mission the Blue Lions went on. It had actually been an early bonding moment for him and Linhardt. They had hotly debated the details in the library.

Being face to face with it, Claude wasn’t as much of a fan. 

“Claude!” Ignatz called out. Claude moved towards him. He pointed towards where the scrap metal that had almost killed them was piled. “Do you see that?”

“Nice eye, Ignatz,” Claude said as he caught on. The impact of their metal friends’ bodies had smashed a hole into the wall behind. The break revealed a hidden room surrounded by clear glass on all sides. The woman there, Claude could only assume was ye old body puppeteer—Dimitri’s _stepmother_. 

They had to win this fight. Claude had _so_ many follow-up questions. 

“I think we’ve got no other options,” Teach was saying as Claude moved closer. 

“They’re still people!” Lysithea protested.

Annette sighed and stared back at the group of advancing ‘people.’ From what Claude could tell, those of them that looked like they might have been former allies weren’t moving as well as the ones who were less… fresh. They didn’t seem like much of a challenge, but they were still blocking the exit route and weren’t giving the appearance that they were open to a friendly debate about moving.

Unless…

Claude cleared his throat to catch the attention of the people currently discussing their situation and pointed upwards. “Looks like we have another friend? Might be who’s controlling the uh… dancers back there.”

“Dancers?” Lysithea said, irritated.

“Would you prefer zombies?” Claude couldn’t help parroting back and revelled a little in her indignant huff. “Then don’t complain about my codewords.”

Judging from the tense, sharp-eyed expression Dimitri had while he bore a hole into the glass room (impressive, with only one eyeball), Claude suspected his assumption about the mystery lady’s identity was correct.

“Hey,” Teach said, softly. She walked towards Dimitri and put a hand on his face until he turned back to her and glanced down. “Go. We can handle things here.”

“I don’t—” the King of United Fódlan didn’t get to finish his objections, because Teach moved her hand from his jaw to cover his mouth.

“I got my answers,” she said, “go get yours.”

In an intimate moment Claude probably should’ve politely looked away from, Dimitri gazed deeply (yet again fairly impressively for only one eye) and then took her hand off his mouth and kissed it gallantly before heading towards the glass room and whatever his answers were. Hopefully those answers included curing these poor dancing bastards. 

“Help ‘em with the wall?” Claude suggested to Lysithea with a nudge. 

“Better than zombies, I suppose,” she muttered. She and Annette helped clear off the rest of the wall, revealing a staircase that led up to the glass enclosure. Claude wondered who designed this place and why it had so many weird hidden chambers. Also how they’d figured out this strange ambiance of odd lighting and smooth walls—it was impressive and also fairly creepy.

Teach was staring off at the staircase Dimitri was beginning to climb. She looked pensive. Claude wondered if that was a specific emotion due to the current situation or was a new side-effect of whatever happened that he missed. Gods, he had so many follow-up questions. 

“Teach?”

Teach glanced at him over her shoulder. “If she is controlling them, maybe we can stall until they’re freed from it?” The small uptick at the end of her sentence made it a question. It was a hope, not a reality.

Claude had sympathy for that kind of decision. He’d made too many of them during the war. “I don’t know if we’re in a situation where we can make those calls, my friend.” 

She sighed and nodded in agreement. “Let’s get this over with then.”

“What happened?” Claude asked her as they made their way to share the plan—let’s try not to kill them but don’t go overboard trying not to kill them and get yourself killed in the process—with the Deer and friends.

“Rhea died,” Teach said, then frowned, shifting her sword to her other hand. “And Sothis… left?”

So. Many. Follow-up. Questions. 

“Terrible timing,” Claude said. They could really use those Goddess assisted powers right now. “But I’m happy for you.” 

Teach blinked, then looked over at him. Her face wasn’t generally the easiest to read, but it seemed like she hadn’t thought about the upsides of that yet. Her expression smoothed out again, likely because now wasn’t really the time to navel-gaze the possibilities of no longer being potentially immortal.

“Looks like you and Hilda made up,” Teach said, as she watched Hilda slam _Freikugel_ into the body of one of the more active dancers. 

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Claude said, but he was grinning. Terrible timing for that too. “I thought you could use some backup after the uh…”

“Running off like a fucking idiot and getting captured?” Byleth finished for him.

“I was going to phrase it more kindly, but yes.” 

Everything about this place was strange. The colors, the walls, even the unnatural feel of it. It made Claude want to get out as quickly as possible, but also stay and explore every inch of it. He wondered if Teach had gotten any useful information out of her captors on how any of this stuff worked. Why it worked. Then again she’d been busy.

Speaking of. “Is Flayn still in here?” he asked. That would require an adjustment to Claude’s current plan of getting the hell out of here unscathed.

Teach shook her head. “She and Seteth got out.”

“They got Seteth?” Claude couldn’t help being impressed. Catching that guy off his guard was incredibly difficult. And he knew; he’d perfected the practice. 

“They’re doing some kind of blood experiments,” Teach said. “Something to do with crests… I don’t know _what_ it has to do with these… dancers though.”

He couldn’t help the grin as she used the codeword. “Crest knowledge is great and unending, as Hanneman couldn’t and Lin can’t stop telling me—it’s possible it has some ties to these experiments. Maybe they’re the unfortunate byproduct of trying to be long-lived?”

“Maybe,” Teach said, but she didn’t sound convinced.

Even as far as they’d gotten there were still so many mysteries they hadn’t cracked yet. He looked up and had a moment to smile as he saw Lysithea flying with Ingrid. He hadn’t made that call, but wow was it a good one. It was like death from above. For the first time ever, he almost wished he’d had Ingrid in the Golden Deer. He immediately regretted that thought and gagged.

“You look like you swallowed something sour,” Teach said, amused.

“Thinking about possibilities,” Claude replied. 

“Then the sour face isn’t a good sign,” Teach said. 

She looked up suddenly and when Claude tracked her gaze and saw what caught her attention well… there were upsides and there were downsides. Upside, there was in fact another way out of here. Downside, the potentially animated corpse of the King of Liberation had come through it. 

“Feeble creatures…” Nemesis ( _apparently_ ) said in a voice that sounded like it had been recorded and put out from an Almyran phonograph—twisted into an entirely inhuman type of noise. Like he needed another indication of ‘wow this guy was dangerous’ other than him being able to take down Teach.

And the really insanely tall, extremely built, holding a giant sword thing. He caught Hilda readying her axe. “Hilda! Don’t!”

Teach had moved and seemed to be giving Felix the same warning—though he didn’t parrot Hilda’s relief to not fight it and seemed to be arguing with her. Claude didn’t catch their words, but he did enjoy the way Teach flicked him on the forehead to end the conversation. He wished he was close enough to hear it.

“Ready for a rematch with that… ancient Fell King of lore?” Claude asked when she met up with him again. 

It wasn’t very reassuring for their odds that Teach had _lost_ to Nemesis while fully equipped with the same sword Nemesis appeared to be holding (not to mention Goddess-appointed skills). Claude didn’t believe in getting lucky… he was starting to believe in Teach though.

Teach rolled her neck and spun her wrist around so that her sword was at a ready position. “Nope,” she answered.

Claude laughed and held his hand out in the same kind of welcome he’d utilized to get her first dance at Garreg Mach all those years ago. Really he was the only one fearless (or shameless) enough to be the first to ask. “Shall we?” 

Teach seemed to understand what he was getting at and she nodded. “Let’s dance.”

They worked well together. The last month had proven as much (and apparently in some other twist of time they’d actually _worked_ together), but no matter how tactically brilliant or impressively skilled either of them was, facing against a gigantic piece of muscle of an ancient hero turned villain was not an easy move to pull off.

“No hesitation,” Teach said to herself, as they split off without another word. She seemed to keep Nemesis occupied and his attention focused on her. 

Her sword sparked when Nemesis’s clashed against it, which wasn’t a great sign. Neither was the way he pushed her back a few inches every time their blades met. Meanwhile, Claude tried to find Nemesis’s weak points—which you’d think for a shirtless dead guy would’ve been easy, but he was having difficulty. 

Arrows landed fine, but they seemed to slide into Nemesis’s flesh and then stay there without so much as a flinch from the man (or whatever he was) himself.

“Destroy!” Nemesis said, in that strange inhuman voice as he hurled his replica relic at Teach’s face. 

Goddess assisted powers didn’t seem to be what made up her reflexes, thankfully, and she was able to not only dodge out of the way of that one, but scoff. “Predictable.” 

It didn’t seem to bother Nemesis so much as he continued his single-minded assault, allowing Claude plenty of time to continue to shoot ineffectually at his back. Claude didn’t look back to see if His Kingliness had made any progress with Step-mommy Dearest, but he was guessing from the way Nemesis continued to come at them, it was a negative.

“You know,” Claude said, after another unsuccessful game of pincushion on Teach’s part while Claude tried to keep Nemesis’s attention this time. “For someone called the King of Liberation, you don’t really seem to be all that regal… or all that liberating. Unless that was a reference to your liberation of chest hair—since you have none.”

So much for not rising to the bait. Claude almost got knocked flat for that one, which had given Teach the opportunity to sheathe her blade into the slab of meat’s shoulders. And yet… he _still_ kept dancing!

Teach and Claude retreated a little and regrouped. Claude fiddled with his bowstring out of habit and nerves, while Teach kept her eyes straight on the hulking figure making his way towards them again. 

“Get him on the floor,” Teach said. 

“Sure, easy enough,” Claude shot back, worry starting to bleed into his frustration—he definitely didn’t like remembering the feeling of losing. “Think I should ask him nicely?”

“Trust me,” Byleth said, turning to stare straight at him. Her eyes were blue now—normal—but still blunt and assessing. She had no idea what she was asking for in that simple request.

Claude had no idea how or when he’d gotten to a place where he could agree to it. “You got it, Teach.”

He stepped back a bit and called to the closest Deer he could see. “Marianne!” he called out. “Can we get a little death from above?” He pointed upwards.

Marianne wisely gestured to Raphael, explaining the situation, and then he went off to signal Ingrid and Lysithea (much more vocal projection on Raph to be noticeable, wise choice). There’d be no way for them to get off an attack with any accuracy with Claude and Byleth so close to Nemesis, but even a reanimated ancient king saw Ingrid and Lysithea for the threat they were. He turned his attention towards them as they flew in.

Claude only had a few arrows left. It had been a while since he’d used his crest for a shot (it never really felt the same since he offloaded _Failnaught_ ). He took a steadying breath and nocked two arrows, focusing on whatever ancient Ten Elite Riegan magic within that would make these ones count—then he shot them both into each of Nemesis’s ankles as he was advancing. Claude hoped gravity would take care of the rest.

It did. It wasn’t luck, but Claude’s understanding of basic human anatomy and center of gravity that made it happen. Nemesis lost balance from under himself while still moving forward and it centered him straight towards the floor, face first.

Teach moved immediately. Before he was even completely down she’d leapt from her current spot and then landed on Nemesis back right as his face hit the ground. Judging by the way he was already moving his shoulders, perilously close to knocking her off, Claude didn’t think her slight frame was going to be able to hold him down at all, let alone for long.

Then with a very loud angry grunt, Teach lifted her sword up into the air and then thrust it down into the back of the Fell King’s skull.

For a horrifying second, Claude thought Nemesis was going to keep moving even through that. Then Teach _twisted_ the sword and Claude almost welcomed back his breakfast. Effective, if disgusting, since the guy finally stopped moving.

“Not the most graceful way to end a ball,” Claude said, helping Teach get the sword out and also making extra sure that Nemesis was actually down. They didn’t need any last minute surprises. 

“Effective though,” Teach said repeating his thoughts, as she took his hand to step down off the giant body. Her eyes drifted to Nemesis’s sword. It really did appear to be an exact replica of the _Sword of the Creator_ now that Claude had the time to examine it (instead of duck beneath it and roll out of its way) to confirm. She’d been using a well kept sword, but not a relic.

“Pretty impressive duel there, especially considering you didn’t have your own relic to match,” Claude said, kicking the sword away from Nemesis to see if he’d move. He thankfully didn’t.

“Yeah, that’s…not an option,” Teach sighed and then wiped her blade off on Nemesis’s back. Claude considered his breakfast again. 

It made sense from what he knew of everything they’d learned so far. 

“The Goddess’s heart was the missing crest stone,” Claude said and Teach confirmed it with a nod. The last puzzle piece finally fell into place in his brain. He immediately wanted to tell this information to Linhardt, mostly to see if Lin had already thought of it—and because without the immediate threat of an ancient enemy, Claude wanted to make sure he was okay.

Claude looked up at where Lin and the others had been hiding out, up a level, but didn’t see anyone. That made him nervous, a thing he did not like. He was seconds from hailing Ingrid for a ride or at least hassling her to get proof of life when he clocked familiar green hair.

That was Linhardt and moving faster than Claude had ever seen him—couldn’t have pictured him going that fast, actually.

“Huh,” Claude said, while he watched the streaks of people running up at the top level towards the stairs they’d all used earlier. He at least felt relieved that Lin was alright. He wasn’t sure he recognized all of the figures from this far, but either way. “That one in the front can run.” 

Teach looked at him curiously and then to where he pointed. Most of the unattended dancers seemed to be under control or taken out of rotation, so Claude and Byleth ran to the stairs to meet up with the rest of their people.

Once Linhardt got closer, it was not… entirely reassuring to see his expression that explained the out-of-character speediness. He was terrified. 

Also so was Leonie. Claude barely had a second to register her being here in the first place, before she snapped, “We need to get the hell out of here!” 

Claude looked behind to see Ashe, Caspar (who wasn’t dead… apparently) impressively carrying Sylvain on his back while running that fast, and an unfamiliar player. The very fast runner, who didn’t take a moment to greet them as she sprinted down the stairs and past them the second their paths crossed.

And now they were _all_ passing him and Teach to make their way down the stairs. 

“What’s going on?” Teach asked. 

Claude also wanted to know, so he did the logical thing and tried to see what exactly it was they were running from. Confidence over taking down two giant mechanical marvels with unreal shielding and an actual mythological bad guy still didn’t prepare Claude for what he saw. 

He’d seen crest beasts before—they were an undesirable side effect of traveling in Fódlan and only increased when fighting a war against an Empire that seemed to love utilizing them. This thing… was not a crest beast.

The thing looked like someone put several monsters together and then stretched them out to make the vague shape of a woman. Or possibly a very feminine pink haired man or other gender… who was Claude to assume?

Either way, its gaping maw and fathomless eyes were the prettiest part of the terror that would haunt Claude’s nightmares if they survived. 

“Indech’s dick! Holy shit!” Hilda exclaimed… which well _yeah_. That was a fair reaction. Claude hadn’t realized she was behind him, too caught up in his own slew of Almyran curses and attempts to think their way into a good strategy.

Hilda pointed at it, eyes wide. “How the hell do we fight _that_ thing!” 

“Carefully?” Claude suggested. Maybe strategy could wait. He took the initiative of Linhardt and the others to fall back. He had to drag Teach but Hilda took the first hint and was down the stairs before he and Teach were halfway.

“That’s… Edelgard did that,” Teach said next to him as they hit the landing. “Used the crest stones to transform herself, but this is… kind of worse.”

“How’d you fix it?” Hilda asked. 

“We killed her,” Teach said bluntly. Hilda’s responding groan was… also fair. 

Claude tried racking his brain for best scenarios to take down mutanty giants and pulled back to see if he could scavenge any arrows off of Nemesis’s unanimated corpse. As he pulled them out, he looked around and saw that Linhardt and the others seemed to be split between the rest of the former Deer and Lions (and well… Caspar). 

Claude was dragging a third arrow out of Nemesis’s shoulder, wondering where he could possibly hit and with what to make a dent in that thing, when a high pitched groan shook the foundation of the hall they were in.

Teach’s eyes widened in an expression he’d seen when she’d first worried about facing Nemesis (when she’d _lost)._ Additionallyworrisomesince she wasn’t even looking at the pink haired monster. He made a note to _never_ call Hilda that again, even as a joke. 

“We have to get out!” Teach said—then she immediately disseminated that information to the others, very loudly and very quickly.

“What’s going on?” Claude asked, not that he had a problem with a swift retreat in the face of… well, whatever the hell that was.

Teach was shaken and still rushing everyone on to make sure they made the exit route. “That sound is—we have to get everyone out of here and as far back from this place as possible. Now.” She looked at Claude over her shoulder and for the second time that day said, “Trust me.”

And, for what might’ve been the second time in his _life_ , Claude did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Byleth did not need to tell everyone to run, as several of them (Gen in front) were already halfway out by the time she said that.


	41. Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anselma von Arundel has had many names.
> 
> (or, remember when I said no more new POVs?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO HERE WE ARE. This is the very last chapter, the next chapter is an epilogue of sorts that will round out the character stuff. This chapter is the fruition of almost a year of research, plotting, planning, ~~crying,~~ writing, and revision.
> 
> I greatly appreciate those that took this ride with me as well as anyone taking it in the future. Thank you so much for every comment and kudos, they mean the world to me and I really hope the conclusion satisfies you. <3 
> 
> (I no longer have to scream, Patricia tell me your secrets at the screen and so I am pretty happy with it.)
> 
> Ty to Iz for the beta and I am @waffle_fancy on twitter

**Imperial Year 1151 - Great Tree Moon**

Anselma stared at the man openly. Her mother continued to tell her that was rude, but the man only stared back at her. Volkhard was running around with his friends in the garden and Anselma had been sitting and watching, because she wasn't allowed to ruin her dress. She lifted herself off the bench and walked towards him.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Have we not met many times before, young miss?” the man said in a perfect imitation of Bertrand’s voice.

He was not Bertrand. 

She stared at him longer. Adults would never hold her gaze long enough, either breaking away to tell on her awful manners or to ignore that they lost a staring contest to a child.

“You’re pretending,” she said. 

Bertrand never raised his eyebrows like that. He would always chuckle, tossle her hair and then pay her no attention for the rest of his visits no matter what she said. He would never look impressed.

“Who am I then?” the stranger asked.

Anselma looked him up and down. He was very tall and he looked like Bertrand, but he was not Bertrand. She was far too old to believe in the fairytales the midwives gossiped over to scare everyone into behaving. There were no shape-changing evil spirits set to whisk her away to their underground lair, should she not finish her dinner. But this man seemed to fit a tale such as that… or maybe a better one.

“Are you my father?” Anselma asked. 

Now, the man looked nothing like Bertrand. His face had shifted into shock and then an unfamiliar pride. There was nothing to be proud of when you were the youngest daughter in a noble house of too poor standing to have even taken residence in the capital. 

The man crouched down so that he was at her height. “You have a father, do you not?”

He was leading her with the questions. Her tutors often did this and she humored them. “He doesn’t like me,” Anselma said. “Not like he likes Volkhard and Millicent.” Millie was the maid’s child and Anselma overheard Mother and the man who called himself Father arguing about it several months before. Millie wasn’t her sister, but she was Volkhard’s.

“And my eyes,” Anselma said, putting her hands on her hips. “No one has them.” She did notice that the man did not have them either, but if he was pretending to be Bertrand then maybe those weren’t his true eyes.

Now the man stared openly. He stared longer than was proper for an adult and Anselma could not be sure if she liked it or if it made her uncomfortable. He was still crouching at her level but did not seem to be talking down to her or seeing her as only a child. 

“Perhaps you have some of me after all,” the man said, in an entirely different voice. It was deeper than Bertrand's and Anselma thought she liked it a bit better.

She smiled brightly. “So you are!” 

He smiled back, though it was only a small rise to his lips. “Yes. You were… do you know what an aberration is?”

“No,” Anselma said, frowning again. She didn’t like when she didn’t know things. 

Her father chuckled. “You were—let’s call it a surprise. Ties with your kind have not been common over the last millennia. Yvonne was also a surprise. Very smart for what she was.”

Yvonne was Anselma’s mother’s name. She at least knew her mother was her mother, even if sometimes she also didn’t seem to like Anselma as much as Volkhard (but at least more than Millie). “Are you here to take me away?” Anselma asked.

She did not know if she would like either answer. She would miss Volkhard, after all. (And maybe Millie, a little.)

Her father shook his head. “No, but perhaps I can attempt to see you more often. You… could be of great use. Anselma,” he said, frowning briefly at her name, “can you keep a secret?”

She nodded quickly. She had told no one about the overheard argument regarding Millie and there were several others she kept under lock and key.

“You are from a once rich and glorious people,” her father said and suddenly Anselma thought maybe she _was_ in a fairytale. “They live in the shadows now, hidden from sight, because of the interference of very bad people.”

“Is that why you look like Bertrand?” Anselma asked.

This question seemed to please him. He even gently touched her face with the kind of affection the man her father wasn’t never showed. “Yes.” He smiled at her “Would you like a better name, child? One of ours?”

Anselma didn’t think there was anything wrong with her name, but she nodded anyway, wanting to keep pleasing him.

“Leto, I think,” the man said. “They call me Thales,” he added, but then tapped his nose with the fingers previously on her face. 

She held her hand up in an oath stance. It wasn’t as if she’d call her father by his given name, but it was nice to know it. Especially if his face was different. She wondered if it looked like hers. She wondered if he had her eyes. She wondered if he also liked picking out the constellations on a clear night. 

Her father chuckled again. “Leto, then. I think I’ll have to visit you more often.”

Anselma did not remember ever smiling this wide.

**Imperial Year 1161 - Ethereal Moon**

Anselma was happy for an excuse to leave the White Heron Ball even if it meant going out into the chill. Adrestia was much less inclement this time of year. One of the boys who’d tried to dance with her from the Blue Lions told her all about Faerghus and how cold it got, especially in Gautier. Even colder than Garreg Mach. 

He’d been trying to impress her but had done a terrible job. It had only made her dislike him and the north more. She made her way up the Goddess Tower, butterflies in her stomach. She’d received a missive amongst the usual letters from home. This one was from her father—he rarely wrote since she entered the Academy and he’d never given her an actual _task_ before. 

The topmost room of the tower was empty. Anselma frowned. She’d been told to come up here at this time so there must have been some reason. 

The reason appeared a few minutes later, rising up the steps from behind her.

At first Anselma thought it was one of her professors, but when the man came into the moonlight she recognized him from their infrequent trips to Enbarr—though she’d only seen him at a distance.

The current Emperor, Ionius von Hresvelg XI. Her feet stayed stuck. It was not hard to discern now what the missive had been about—it was not as if her mother and the man who sometimes called himself her father had not asked for much of the same before they allowed her to attend the Academy. Yet they had not quite set their sights this high.

“Apologies, my lady,” Ionius said, kindly. He had a handsome smile. “I didn’t think anyone would—oh well I suppose I should have. The tradition?” 

“You’re here for that?” Anselma asked. She was surprised, he’d graduated years ago. Even now she thought the idea was silly.

“You haven’t bowed,” Ionius noted, but seemed pleased by it.

“We aren’t in Adrestia,” Anselma said, simply. It was better than admitting she’d forgotten in her surprise. “Would you prefer if I did?”

“Would you?” he asked.

Anselma unstuck her feet and walked towards the window. “I try not to commit treason when I can help it,” she said.

Ionius laughed, charmed. He circled around her to get another view. She’d been told she was beautiful since she turned fourteen. It was her duty to House Arundel to find a husband to raise her station and that of the house. Anselma did not think she could find a higher station than the Emperor’s, but also knew he was already wed with several consorts. 

She would have to be very beautiful to catch his attention. The fact that she had made her blush. 

“You’re a Black Eagle, I take it?” he correctly guessed.

Anselma nodded. “You were as well, of course.”

“House Leader,” Ionius said and then laughed again. It was deep and seemed to bubble up his throat. She didn’t dislike the sound. “Preparation for what was to come.”

“They did not announce your visit,” Anselma said. She was sure it would have put even more fervor into the decorations and planning. 

“I know,” Ionius said and took a step closer to her. He was very handsome. “I did not plan to come tonight: it was a whim. I remembered the day and … became nostalgic for easier, if not better days.”

Anselma pursed her lips. “You dislike a challenge?”

Now he was truly charmed. Ionius’s face split into a grin that didn’t seem very regal and so she liked it. “No, I do not. I enjoy them.”

“Good,” Anselma said, smiling a little as well. She liked that he didn’t like her simpering. She wasn’t sure she could put up with that for very long, even at the behest of her father. “I’m Anselma von Arundel,” she added, since he hadn’t asked.

“Anselma,” Ionius said, pronouncing her name with a fondness she rarely heard. Ionius held out his hand. His gloves were red, so dark they seemed black until the moonlight spilled onto them. “Would you entertain me in an old tradition? They say if a man and woman wish together here, that the Goddess makes their wish true.”

She had heard several variants of this and none of them had seemed even remotely feasible. Especially considering the truth of what she knew about the Goddess. Anselma took his hand anyway. “Is there anything left for you to wish for?” she asked. 

“I can think of several,” Ionius said. “However, if you have no specific wishes yourself, I would like to wish that you join me for a dance.”

Anselma stared at him, feeling her blush deepen. “Ask me. You don’t need the Goddess to fulfill that. I can do it myself.”

Ionius, Emperor of Adrestia, bowed and kissed her gloved hand. “Anselma von Arundel,” he said, “would you care to dance?”

It was the first offer of the night Anselma had accepted. 

**Imperial Year 1162 - Garland Moon**

_Oh._ Anselma thought as they placed the squalling infant into her arms. _That’s what it feels like_. 

She stared down at her daughter, after hours of pain that she was already forgetting, and realized that _this_ was what it felt like to be truly in love.

**Imperial Year 1165 - Garland Moon**

“Don’t run,” Anselma chided, as Edelgard sprinted towards her. The chiding lasted hardly a second, before Anselma couldn’t resist bending down to catch her daughter in her arms and hoist her up into the air to hear a squeal. “My birthday girl,” she said and kissed her cheeks.

Ionius had hosted a lavish affair in honor of her third birthday, but that was at night, for nobles, and the furtherance of his plans of centralizing power. Today was about Edelgard.

“You are very fast for such small legs, daughter of mine,” Ionius said, catching up and gently and playfully poking Edelgard’s nose. 

Ionius had several daughters already—though the other consorts hadn’t been pleased that he’d seemed disinterested in having any more after Edelgard had been born. Anselma tried to make sure Edelgard felt none of that and thankfully her siblings adored her. 

Anselma accepted the kiss Ionius gave her. Then she smiled while nuzzling her face into the sweet cheeks of her baby girl. Not such a baby anymore.

“She’s growing too fast,” Ionius complained.

Anselma ran her hands over the soft hair on Edelgard’s head and looked into the eyes that so closely matched her own. “Aren’t you excited to see who she’ll be?”

“Who will you be, El?” Ionius asked their daughter.

Edelgard stared at him and then launched herself into his arms. “Decisive,” Anselma said, laughing. “El will be decisive.”

**Imperial Year 1167 - Harpstring Moon**

She was going to miss Edelgard’s birthday next month, Anselma thought. She loved Edelgard’s birthdays. It was rare for Edelgard to have so much undivided attention 

“Don’t make that face,” Cornelia said, handing Anselma some tea. It was nuttier than the ones Anselma was used to, but it wasn’t disgusting. Only unfamiliar. 

“How should I react to being exiled from my home?” Anselma asked. 

Cornelia snorted, derisively. “It’s not your home, Leto. It was merely a convenient location.” She sipped at her own tea. “We’ll find a way around it. I did tell Thales there’d be an issue with your placement. Women don’t like to be usurped.”

“I wasn’t usurping anyone,” Anselma said. “And I certainly didn’t partake in that stupid move by Hrym.” Trying to secede to the Alliance as a reaction to Ionius centralizing power, the only people more naive than Hrym were Ordelia for assisting. And perhaps Anselma for not realizing that her friendship with Lucas Hrym was perfectly laid ammunition for a wife and several consorts who had always hated how much attention she drew from their Emperor. 

“I know that,” Cornelia said. There was something comforting after all these years to talk to someone who truly knew Anselma—Leto. She only wished it had happened with her daughter safely with her. “The situation is what it is. Thales gave me some suggestions, but I had better ones. Your asylum was easy enough to achieve. No love for the Empire lately in Faerghus—not to mention I can get anything I want after curing the plague.”

Anselma sipped her tea. The plague they'd started, she suspected. Cornelia, unlike other Agarthans Anselma had met over the years, didn’t feel the need to pretend she was anyone but who she was. Her pious healer act had slipped quite a bit since becoming court mage.

“What exactly is it that you and my father want?” Anselma asked.

“Maybe nothing. We’ll see how it goes,” Cornelia said, dismissively. “First, we need to get you more… Kingdom appropriate attire and a new name.” 

Cornelia settled on the name Patricia, and Ans—and Patricia didn’t dislike it. It had an easier sound to it than Anselma did. Especially when spoken by Lambert Egitte Blaiddyd, the King of Faerghus. Cornelia had taken Patricia to a ball where she’d introduced them and he was as charming as he was tall. A pleasant distraction, at least. She never assumed anything would actually come of it. She knew she was beautiful, but to catch the sustained attention of two men ruling countries? That seemed a stretch.

Especially if Lambert was as deeply devoted to his departed wife, even all these years later, as she’d heard. He probably only wanted a distraction too. 

**Imperial Year 1167 - Horsebow Moon**

“I think the cold is getting to me,” Patricia said, drawing the sheet around herself. “What exactly did you say?”

Lambert had a boisterous laugh that was as infectious as it was overbearing. “Should I kneel?”

“Please do not,” Patricia said, fighting a smile as he did so anyway. He was still in his smallclothes, the foolish man. “Lambert, you can’t honestly be serious.”

She didn’t need it besides. She’d been a consort before and Lambert’s attentions were even more dedicated than Ionius’s. He held out his hands for hers and Patricia, with some hesitation and a lowering of the sheet, gave one to him.

He was so dreadfully earnest. “I am not the Emperor,” Lambert said. “I would not have the woman I love slandered as an accessory.”

It wasn’t really like that in the Empire, but Patricia was beginning to understand Faerghus values ran a little colder. “I don’t need you to placate me, my love. It’s enough to see you. And it’s only been a few months. Not to mention, you could not in good conscience get away with it.”

Lambert frowned, he scooted closer to her, still on his knees so that he was looking up directly into her eyes. “You’re right. It would need to be secret, as much as I dislike the idea.” He brought her hand he was holding to his lips. “I love and cherish you in a way I have not felt since my wife passed.”

“I know,” Patricia said, smiling fondly. It was a rare surprise amongst her disappointments. “I don’t need you to prove it.”

“I’d like to,” Lambert said, insistently. She was learning how stubborn he was. “And I would like to bring Edelgard here.”

The warm distraction of a fantasy Patricia draped herself in stuttered to a halt. “That’s impossible,” she breathed.

“It may take some time,” Lambert said. “But I’d like to bring her here. She’s Dimitri’s age. We—I always wanted a sibling for him.”

Patricia could feel the rise and fall of her chest and the way her heart pounded against the cage of her ribs in painful hope. “I haven’t met Dimitri yet,” she said. “He may not want a mother.”

“He will if it’s you,” Lambert said, smiling that charming grin at her. She often couldn’t resist the urge to tug on his facial hair when he looked at her like that, but at the moment she was trying not to cry. 

“Would you marry me now, darling?” Lambert asked. “Even if we need to keep it private?”

“How would you…” Patricia desperately wanted to believe him. “How would you get Edelgard back?”

“The Kingdom has vast resources,” Lambert said. “Not even the Empire can hide her forever. From what you’ve told me, your brother would be willing to help as well.”

Patricia nodded. “How would you get word to him?”

“Cornelia mentioned something,” Lambert said, with an offhand wave. “Ease of messages between mages. I leave that sort of thing to her and the others.”

If Cornelia mentioned it, then it was a plan. It was a gift. It was a future she could grasp in her hand, like she held onto Lambert’s.

“Yes,” she said. 

**Imperial Year 1168 — Pegasus Moon**

Patricia made her way down the frozen halls—she was doing better with the winter this year, but as her bed had been empty with her husband in Sreng, she hadn’t been warm. The route she took did nothing to help with that. She bundled in enough furs to cut the frost as she walked across the iced-over courtyard, too dry for snow, and made her way to the training yards. 

The boys were hardly dressed. Not nearly appropriate for the weather even with their Faerghus blood. She cleared her throat, drawing their attention. The Fraldarius boys reacted in equal measure, concerned and suspicious. Dimitri, however, projected his guilt tenfold past his fringe.

“Lady Patricia,” Gustave said, bowing towards her. “Is there something you needed?”

“Yes, for the prince not to miss his writing lessons for lance training _again._ ” 

Felix, Rodrigue’s youngest, looked ready to fight her on it. It was not terribly intimidating with those cheeks of his and his tendency to throw fits over the smallest things. Dimitri, still guiltily hanging his head, handed his lance to Gustave and walked towards her like he was approaching the gallows.

She took his hand and ignored the protests of at least one of the Fraldariuses as they made their way back to the castle. Patricia made sure Dimitri stayed with his tutor and then settled herself into the routines she’d picked up since Lambert had been gone. She hadn’t realized how much he distracted her. 

She had lunch with Cornelia, did the bare minimum required of a queen consort (that only a select few people knew about) in terms of household management, and then picked up the sewing project she was working on. The embroidery was delicate, but she knew once she finished it would look lovely on a winter cloak to wrap around Edelgard’s shoulders. She’d had a small frame the last time Patricia had seen her—she’d need something to keep her warm in Faerghus. 

Patricia settled in for the night. She brushed her hair—there was enough of it now that her arm began to tire. She briefly thought of cutting it and then remembered the way Lambert enjoyed running his fingers through it and seeing how far they went. She smiled a little and then heard a knock at her door. Patricia placed the brush down and saw Dimitri, head hung, holding up a small fist of snowbells.

“I don’t need bribery,” she said, ushering him in. She took them anyway and found a vase for them, though she wasn’t sure how long they’d last. Dimitri was still looking glum by the time she came back towards him. He’d been missing his father terribly and she could not blame him. It was hard for a parent to be gone from their child, in either direction.

“Dimitri,” Patricia said softly. “Come here.” She held her arms out and accepted the overly tight hug, smoothing over the hair on his head and resting her palm gently against the crown of it.

“Are you upset?” Dimitri asked. 

“Don’t mumble,” Patricia chided and lifted his chin. He looked so much like his father that she couldn’t even see the pieces of him that were from the woman who’d borne him. It made it too easy to fold her into his heart with no threat to her fresh claim. 

“Are you upset with me?” Dimitri asked again, enunciating. 

“No,” Patricia said. “I am wondering why it is that you keep skipping your lessons.”

To his credit, he didn’t mumble. “I keep breaking the quills.” 

Patrica sighed and stroked his hair again. She had no idea how to handle this part of the equation. Edelgard had a crest, of course, but it hardly broke things—let alone a lot of things. She was convinced most of it was brutish Blaiddyd men clumsiness more so than crests.

“Practice will help,” she said. “Those lessons are important: you can’t rule the country with only a lance.”

He wasn’t his father. As much as she’d grown to love Lambert, she was glad of that fact. She liked Dimitri using his brain more than his weapons to solve problems. 

“They’re also boring,” Dimitri admitted and smiled as Patricia failed to hide her own in response.

She chucked under his chin and settled him onto the settee next to her, so she had better access to stroke her fingers through his hair. “This isn’t about lessons, is it?”

Dimitri leaned against her. “When is Father coming home?”

“I don’t know,” Patricia answered honestly, because she didn’t believe in coddling him. He was too smart for that. “It's very difficult to wait on people you love,” Patricia said, “but it also gets better with practice.”

Dimitri nodded, but didn’t respond otherwise. She let the silence sit for a bit, enjoying the strange domesticity of it even amongst everything else. With the Fraldarius brothers staying the night, she doubted he’d want to sleep on his father’s pillow, but she felt softened all the same that he came to her for comfort. 

“Why don’t we _write_ him a letter tomorrow?” she suggested.

Dimitri looked up at her, eyes bright and wide, and a smile as absurdly charming as his father’s. 

**Imperial Year 1175 — Lone Wolf Moon**

There was no possible way that Patricia had heard right. “What are you saying, Cornelia?”

Cornelia rarely hesitated, but she paused and there was far too much sympathy and concern in her usually carefree gaze. “I would have told you sooner, if I’d known. It was kept so secret, I didn’t become aware of it until long after they’d already returned to the Empire.”

Patricia almost lost her footing, but managed to catch herself on one of the chairs. Cornelia moved quickly towards her to help her settle into a chair. She still looked concerned. 

“How long?” Patricia finally managed. 

Cornelia hesitated again. “Three years.” 

Three… years. For _three_ years her daughter had been within the city limits? For three years she could have held her child again? For three years they shared the same space and air and she had known _nothing_.

It was kept secret.

“Who was keeping it secret?” Patricia asked. 

“Who do you think?” Cornelia shook her head and poured Patricia some tea, as if she had the appetite to stomach anything after that. “It’s apparently all tied up in human politics and specifics for negotiation of this and the other.” 

“Lambert,” Patricia said. It felt uncharacteristically cruel of him, but who else could do such a thing? And he’d promised to bring Edelgard here. He’d swore it and he’d done nothing since. She’d been in Fhirdiad and away from her daughter for nearly a decade. 

“Maybe… well, you know how he is, maybe he didn’t want to get your hopes up in case she had to return.” Cornelia sighed again and didn’t even take her own tea in hand. “Which apparently they did.”

“How could Volkhard not try to reach me?” Patricia asked. How could her _brother_ be so cruel? Why didn’t any of them keep to their word?

“Men think with a certain function,” Cornelia said. She tapped the excessive cleavage she liked to keep with her finger. “And it isn’t their brain.”

Patricia never cried. She had not since she was a child and the man who called himself her father had called her fragile and the man who _was_ her father had told her managing emotions, expressions, and never letting anyone know how she felt was the only key to keeping her control.

Patricia wept. _Three years_.

Cornelia had gone to her at some point. Her friend held her close and stroked her hair to soothe her, as Patricia had done for Dimitri and as Anselma had done for Edelgard. She felt so weak, so foolish. She hated it. 

“I might have a way,” Cornelia said finally, hesitating again.

Patricia looked up at her, sniffling around her words. “A way?” 

Cornelia nodded and played with a strand of Patricia’s hair, it said much about her state of mind that she let her. “To see Edelgard again.”

“Tell me,” Patricia said, and dug her fingers into Cornelia’s forearms.

Cornelia didn’t wince. “Thales gave me some instructions on a possible move forward and I think there’s a way to use it so that you can get what you wish for as well, but I’d need you to help me talk to Lord Kleiman… he doesn’t find me trustworthy for some reason.”

“Anything,” Patricia said. And she meant it.

**Imperial Year 1176 — Verdant Rain Moon**

Patricia—Leto was home.

Shambhala was not warm nor inviting, but it would soon hold her daughter and that… that would make it worth—-

**Imperial Year 1176 — Horsebow Moon**

Leto heard Volkhard’s voice and her heart leapt into her throat. She practically ran to reach him, but when she found him he was alone. No Edelgard at his side. 

“Volk—” Leto started, but then something of his expression stopped her. There were sharper lines to his face now and the way his eyes curled weren’t… “Father.”

“Ah yes,” her father said, in her brother’s voice, making her mind spin. His appearance changed to the one she knew was his true face. She once thought his hair feathered around him making him appear to be a regal bird. Now he seemed a carrion eater. “I had forgotten to remove the disguise.”

Had Volkhard gone as well? Had what she’d done even brought her own brother to be cruelly slaughtered? 

She couldn’t let it matter. Not now. “Where's Edelgard?”

Her father looked at her. His eyes were so strange. She’d been surprised when she first saw them and he hadn’t had her own shade. There were no pupils. The only person who shared Leto's eyes was El. The urge to see her had become desperate and unforgiving. It was all she had to cling to now.

“In Enbarr,” her father said with a blank stare. “Where else would she be?”

“Here,” Leto said. “ _Here_. I was told she'd be here. That if I helped— _why_ did you kill them all?”

“You were incidental to the matter,” he said. “We kept you safe.” He looked terribly disappointed in her. “You are too entwined with your human half, Leto. A few of them in the grand plan of this is nothing.”

Leto lunged at him, intent on clawing his eyes out, hitting him, something, but he caught her in his grip easily. “You should be _happy_ you're here among your own kind. You should be grateful I even let you claim that right with your tainted blood.”

It tore out of her throat. “I want to see my daughter.” 

“Leaving here would arouse suspicion, you foolish girl,” her father said, still holding her immobile. “You are here until I say otherwise. If Patricia Blaiddyd showed up months after the Duscur attack, it would ruin everything we've set into place.”

“She’s your granddaughter and you’re pretending to be her uncle,” Leto said, her anger boiling over so that it was almost a snarl. 

“She’s where she is and what she is,” her father—Thales said. “You need to remember your place in our plan. You’re not of use anymore, but you’re my child so you’re here. Remember that.”

How could she possibly ever forget?

**Imperial Year 1176 — Guardian Moon**

Leto felt as if she’d died in Duscur. She wandered aimlessly through the strange halls of Shambhala as if a ghost. No one stopped to talk to her or engage with her. They were not all like Cornelia and her father, but many of them shared features. There were children here, as well as adults. She was adrift in the fantasy of her childhood and the nightmare of her now.

Cornelia’s sister Charsis was the less friendly of the two—Leto hadn’t decided if she preferred her or not, because at least it was honest. Tearing down the truth of what she’d done and who she’d believed was too difficult to comprehend, so Leto didn’t.

Charsis thought Leto beneath her, only half Agarthan, only half of her value. Leto learned quickly. Had she not been Thales’s daughter, she would have been cast aside with the rest of the dead in Duscur. He didn’t write or visit, but she knew he expected her to be grateful for it.

Leto moved aside, barely out of the way in time as Charsis barreled past her and practically leapt at Myson. Thales’s second laughed and caught her hands. “You seem excited. Progress or merely happy to see me?”

Charsis scoffed and swatted at his arm. “As if I would ever show you how I felt.” She laughed and let out a relieved sigh. “It _worked_.”

Myson was immediately more interested, so therefore so was Leto. His hands went to Charsis’s bare arms and he tightened them. “We have it?”

“Yes!” Charsis leaned in to kiss him, a celebratory smack of lips and beamed. “Our little Kitten has a _major_ Crest of Gloucester!” 

“It settled as a major crest?” Myson looked beside himself. “Did any of the other subjects pass?”

Charsis scoffed and frowned, unimpressed. “The last four expired after you left.”

“I need to look over the data and compare all of their commonalities and genetic markers with her blood.” Myson was lost in his own thoughts, but then kissed Charsis’s forehead and smiled at her. “This is progress! If we can narrow down the ages… clearly youth does have something to do with it—she was the second youngest in the group. Do you remember if she was twelve or thirteen when we started?”

“Who keeps track of that?” Charsis asked, with a scoff and then a callous laugh. “Oh yes, _you_. Go find your copious notes, you absolute anorak.”

Myson nodded several times, suddenly lost in his own thoughts as he took down the other side of the hall. Charsis was still smiling until her eyes landed on Leto. “What do you want?” 

“Are you experimenting on _children_?” Leto asked. Twelve. Thirteen. That… was abominable. 

Charsis looked her over, unimpressed. “They’re _human_.” Then she laughed. “If it makes you feel better only one of them survived.”

Leto felt sick. She’d sold her soul for nothing to the creatures in the underground that would drag naughty children to their lairs. “What is _wrong_ with you?”

Charsis frowned and took a step forward, her heel clicking against the hard poured stone. “Don’t slither down from the surface and think you can understand us.”

“Even beasts protect their children,” Leto snapped. Somewhere she was relieved that she had a target other than herself to pin this on.

Charsis ran her tongue over her lips, as if she were whetting her appetite. “I would think you’d understand, considering this is the second cycle we’re working with. Little… Edelgard was it?” Leto’s gut turned to stone and Charsis only smiled wide. “She made it through with flying colors.”

“You’re lying,” Leto said, her voice didn’t rise above a whisper. She _had_ to be lying. “My father would—”

“Thales brought her here himself,” Charsis said, dismissively. “Zahras knows why he favors _you_ , but he certainly doesn’t give two shits about a girl so diluted down with human blood she barely registers as Agarthan—she could never be pure.”

Leto didn’t move. It wasn’t for lack of anger or rage. It was only that she was frozen in place, trapped by the reality of the hell of her own making. By the time Charsis left her, laughter echoing down the hall, Leto recovered herself.

She did not cry, weep, or weaken herself. That would do nothing. Leto hadn’t had anything to do but observe the people here and she’d noted there were many who moved in and out of different parts of the sprawling city. It was easy enough to find the experimentation lab (one of the few places she had not yet explored). She had learned quickly from watching others how to sort data through the strange machines they used—how to parse notes from code and where the paper copies were. She forced herself to search until she verified Charsis’s truth.

Edelgard wasn’t listed by name, but the description… Leto nearly fell to the floor—but then she heard a noise. She’d barely spent any of her adult life not raising children, so she was attuned to the sounds of one in distress. Leto passed by people working on their own studies with little notice and then found the source of the noise.

The girl had stark white hair (like Edelgard would now) and was so young. Was she El’s age? Did El sink to her feet in a cell such as this one as she watched her brothers and sisters burn through their own blood in search of… another crest?

Leto crouched down so that she was somewhere near the height of the girl cowering on the floor. “What’s your name?” she asked, softly.

The girl’s eyes were nothing like Edelgard’s, they were so dark they were almost black. She stared at Leto. “You’re new,” she said, quietly.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” Leto said. How trivial that seemed in the scheme of things of what this child had been through. 

It was then that Leto realized exactly what she must do.

Leto waited until the time was late (even if she still did not understand how they tracked the passage of it without the sun, only that they did somehow) and then made her way—key in hand—to the cell of the one Charsis had referred to as ‘Kitten.’

Twenty children had entered this place for this test alone. Twenty. And only a single one survived. Charsis and Myson considered that a victory. Leto saw it as a tragedy. 

“You don’t belong here, little one,” Leto said, opening the door and holding her hand out. “Let me get you home.”

“I don’t have one,” the child said, taking a hesitant step closer. 

Leto ignored the pain that wished to rise up in her and overflow until it dragged her down. She shoved it deep beneath and kept her hand outstretched. “Then let’s get you away from here so you can find one.”

The girl was quiet, but she took Leto’s hand. As they walked to the route she’d studied from the schematics of the original construction, Leto let herself pretend for a moment that she had Edelgard’s hand in her own. Only a moment.

“I’m Leto,” she said, softly, as the lift rose higher.

The girl still held her hand. “Genna,” she said, very quietly. 

“A name’s important,” Leto said. It defined and carved out the pattern for her life. “When you leave here, pick a new one.” Maybe if Leto had ever had a say in the matter of her own name, things would have turned out different. Then again maybe that was a sad excuse amongst the wreckage she’d wrought. 

She walked the girl out to one of the abandoned maintenance hatches and gave her instructions on how to climb, where to go, and what to do when she was out. Gratitude and disbelief poured from the child, but Leto needed none of it. She would never be able to confirm if Genna actually made her way through and escaped unharmed.

There was no relief in watching Genna leave. Only an act that was done. That had to be done.

A few days later, her father made his presence known. Charsis and Myson had been beside themselves for losing _progress_. Leto would kill them before she let them experiment on another child and told them as much.

When her father arrived he was furious with her. She’d never seen such rage in his expression. It felt paltry compared to her own, simmering always deep beneath her breastbone. She watched him placidly as he debased her parentage and gave empty threats. 

Once he’d stopped, she stared at him, as she’d done as a child. “What do you suppose you’ll do to teach me a lesson, Father? Ruin my home, kill my family, and keep me still from my daughter?”

Shock at first. And then an expression she hadn’t seen in ages crossed her father’s face. Thales was… proud. 

“Maybe you take after me, after all,” he said, and then left her. They were the last words she would ever hear him speak. 

**Imperial Year 1186 — Horsebow Moon**

There was chaos in Shambhala when the news reached them. Leto heard none of it. She only heard that Edelgard was dead. 

**Imperial Year 1186 — Redwolf Moon**

Thales, surprisingly, left Leto enough power that it was not difficult to wield it. Especially now in the power vacuum caused by the chaos of losing their highest leadership. The turmult in the underground yearned for a new figurehead and seemed split between her and Charsis. Leto had no purpose, no motivation, and no use for it, but she had no issue spiting Charsis all the same and accepted. 

Then she found herself again exploring. She’d discovered old maps and charts that no one had cared to notice, leading to places that did not seem to exist otherwise. 

Encased in a metal coffin, Leto found Nemesis—the Fell King—dead for a millennium, yet perfectly preserved. He was human once. He’d fought the Nabateans and Seiros. He’d fought with all those who stood against them, the Agarthans, the ones that had destroyed her child and Leto’s only chance to see her again.

If Leto had this path carved for her—to be the firebrand that brought this world to flame—then she would at least choose how she lit the torch. She wouldn’t lower herself to the depths of Charsis and Myson. She would never work with children or living creatures. She would not subject another being to the same conclusion her own life was spun towards. At least not a living one.

Leto was who she was. She was where she was. And she would embrace that as she had always done.

She would accept her ghosts and work with the dead.

**~~Imperial Year 1192~~ Unification Year 6 — Verdant Rain Moon**

For a moment, the figure at the glass door could have been the spectral form of Lambert coming to finally take his revenge. Only a moment and then Leto realized the boy she’d raised had grown past his father. He looked angry, which he had every right to. Her hand reached out to open the door to her father’s lab before she knew if it was Lambert or Dimitri—she had no reason to not let either of them in. If she faced her death, at least it was on her own terms and not beneath Charsis’s heel. Finally her own terms.

When the door opened and he faced there, there was a brief moment of surprise that morphed Dimitri’s angry features into something more familiar. It set an ache in her ribs. 

They stared at each other. Dimitri had been trained to charm and speak and posture, but he’d always preferred observing quietly. She’d used to pretend he’d gotten that from her. 

“It is you,” Dimitri said, finally. He phrased it as if it were a question and a statement both. His voice was so much deeper than the boy he’d been and it shouldn’t have surprised her, but it did all the same.

“You’ve grown,” Leto said, a pointless statement, but nothing else felt right rising from her throat. She’d missed it. She’d missed all of it for both of them. 

“Is that all you’ve to say to me?” The deep tenor of his voice made the words sound more heated than they were—Leto could still feel the frustration and pain behind it more than the anger. She almost wished it were anger. 

“Is there anything I could say?” she asked, calmly. She knew the answer. 

Confusion morphed his features—and she wondered when and how he’d lost an eye. During the war? Before that? At Duscur?

“Yes. You could offer an explanation as to… _why_?” 

Leto wanted to look away from him, draw her gaze down, but she found she couldn’t. It was the closest she’d gotten to a true piece of her life in years. It was a mirror she couldn’t break away from. “It wouldn’t change anything.”

Nothing she said or did now would. It was as immutable a fact as his hair was still sun colored.

His laugh was mirthless and nothing like his father’s. “Ah, now I see the family resemblance. Edelgard didn’t think anything she could say would turn my mind either, so she said nothing.”

“You tried to make peace,” Leto said, softly. The creature that murdered her daughter had said as much. She’d been gone too long from both their lives to know why it hadn’t worked. El and Dimitri were different, but she had pictured them together once—raising them both as friends and siblings. 

“We did,” Dimitri said. “And she was wrong that nothing could change our paths. If she’d told me what… I still do not know enough about this, I cannot say if they are _your_ people or if they are some other?” His hurt mixed with his bafflement. “Do you not wish to explain any of it?”

She didn’t. Paltry excuses would not go back in time and raise the dead. The Titanus were crushed and the sounds of battle continued, far off enough it felt disconnected from them. It wasn’t. Those were her flesh-made soldiers and Dimitri’s army. Even if she didn’t wish to explain and knew it would solve nothing, she could try. 

“What is it you wish to know?”

Leto had seen the relic Dimitri held in his father’s hands on the day he left for Sreng. Lambert had ridden off like a war hero in a story and had left her lonely for months—only a new son to cling to in his absence… waiting on him and waiting on her daughter. It looked strange to see _Areadbhar_ in Dimitri’s hands, but less so as he angled it towards the floor rather than at her face.

“Are you the reason Father and the others died?” he asked.

Straight to the point. She was a little proud. “Yes,” she said. 

She wasn’t surprised by the anguish on his face, but wished she wasn’t the cause of it. It was too late for that now. “ _Why_?”

“My daughter was in the city for three years.” The flare of anger still boiled in her over that. The lost time she could have had. The difference it could have made to keep El with her. “I didn’t know until after she’d left. Your… now I think perhaps your father might not have known, but Cornelia convinced me he did.” 

Leto didn’t like to think of it, much. She’d either been so easily manipulated and flighty of heart that she’d abandoned trust in the man she’d loved, or she’d known how likely it was that even after all of this—it was true. He could have easily kept Edelgard away from her—rationalize whatever he needed to protect his kingdom. 

“So that justifies a wholesale slaughter?” Dimitri asked, disgusted.

“I told you nothing justifies any of it,” Leto said, unintentionally slipping back into the chiding role of a mother she never truly was. Her calm wavered and finally she heard an unfamiliar strain of emotion in her own voice. “I didn’t know that would happen.”

Dimitri’s grip on his relic increased as his frown did. His adult face suited the frustrated confusion better than he had as a child. “Why did you— _what_ did you do?” 

“I spoke to Lord Kleiman,” she said. “I helped Cornelia gain his trust for… what was supposed to be a distraction.” She didn’t know the specifics. She hadn’t wanted to. “I didn’t know they were to be that violent, but it doesn’t matter. I was angry enough I didn’t care about the consequences.” Not until she knew what they were.

“So you knew they might kill my father, or at least innocents?”

“I didn’t give it thought,” Leto said. “I only wanted to see my daughter again.” And she hadn’t. She never had. She didn’t even know what they’d done with her body. If Edelgard rested somewhere softly amongst her favorite flowers or if they’d brutalized her in an effigy of her broken rule. 

Dimitri looked away from her briefly. The planes of his face were sharper now—he’d grown into every inch of his skin and it suited him well. She couldn’t stop looking and was still staring when his sharp blue eye, so much like his father’s, met hers again. “Are you one of them? The… Agarthans? Is that why?”

If only it were all that simple. If only Leto had ever truly felt anyone other than her children deserved her loyalty to that extent. 

“My mother was Yvonne von Arundel,” Leto said. “My father was Thales, the leader of this place. I didn’t meet him until I was seven.” This underground city had been but a fairy tale. “I went on the behest of both to become the Emperor’s consort—though I never knew exactly why.” 

She suspected she was there to gather information, but they rarely asked for it. Then she thought maybe she was a piece put into play for when they needed it. Now Leto thought she had been an experiment, like those done before her and it was only a passing fancy to see where she’d go and what she’d do. “Leaving to Fhirdiad was… not planned.”

“Yet you married the king,” Dimitri pointed out, without flinching.

For a moment Leto saw Lambert staring back at her, angry like he never was, but then it passed and he was Dimitri again. “Yes,” she said. “I did.”

“For what purpose?”

“I don’t know,” Leto said. She’d gone years without knowing, longer than she’d been with Ionius, long enough to stop thinking that her fate was tied to anything but being Patricia Blaiddyd. 

The sounds of combat still seemed far away, but they were louder in the silence that followed—in the slow shallow breaths before Dimitri asked, “Did you love him?”

Leto never liked to coddle him. “I don’t know,” she said. “If I did, not nearly enough.” 

Dimitri stared at her, clearly attempting to school his features and failing. There was a strain of anguish that had never left his face since the anger fell from it. “Did you love me?”

Her lips turned up. It felt unfamiliar and strange. So long it had been since she’d smiled… she couldn’t remember the last time it happened—but she was sure Dimitri had been the cause of it then as well. “You are one of two people that I can truly, without question, say that I did.”

“Then why—” He shook his head. His hair was shorter than it had been when he was a boy, but still framed his face and draped to cover his eye when he bowed his head. “I suppose you were right and it does not matter.” His head rose again and he straightened, his hold on his relic steadier. “Can you stop these… monstrous experiments outside?”

“No,” Leto said. She’d only been able to champion control with Nemesis. There was a preservation of his body that never seemed to match the others. Charsis insisted it was Leto’s firm stance on working with the dead and not creating them from the living, but Leto doubted it. Nemesis had died on Seiros’s blade before he’d been taken here. 

Dimitri grunted in frustration. “Who are these people? Your people?”

Her people.

Leto glanced at the lance in Dimitri’s hand. 

“Relics,” she said. “Cowards, who fled when they lost a war between the ones that were created by the Goddess and those that already were. They sank beneath and plotted, but never rose again.”

Cowards all of them. Just like her. Except she’d been above and she’d known what it was like, the good and the ill. She knew how it felt to have a family, however fractured. She knew what it felt like to hold her child, her flesh and blood and not. Leto knew in a way that Anselma and Patricia could never, because she’d lost all of what they’d had. 

“You seem to have influence here,” Dimitri said. “You could have used it. You could still.”

An… astute observation. Leto was unsure how to reply, but before she could summon a response, a fever-pitch roar blared above them. Leto looked up to see the grim result of Charsis’s rushed experiments. Of _course_ she’d tested them on herself, once she thought they were working. Who else but herself did Charsis want to have that kind of power?

What was power, if it was not to be used for ill? What was the point of any of it? Leto had been close to two leaders of countries and her own father led an entire race of people. None of them had done anything with it but make war and cause pain through inaction. Charsis had no goal in mind but her own divinity. She’d crush anything in her path and leave a trail of bodies bigger than Duscur without a thought. 

Leto looked to the floor finally. The patterns there were familiar. The notes her father had left had taken her years to decipher, but she remembered what had happened to Ailell. She also knew how.

“You’re right, I could,” she said, speaking to Dimitri but staring up at the creature Charsis had become. It matched her insides, finally. Leto did always think she was more honest than her sister. The javelins of light were activated with a precise movement—Leto made it before Dimitri could understand what was happening.

By the time he’d begun to try and stop her, it was too late.

“Go,” she said.

“What did you do?” Dimitri demanded.

Leto smiled. She felt lighter… free. “I ended it.” The noise that signaled the javelin’s target was one of the sweetest sounds she’d ever heard. They would have such a short trip this time. Their last attack on this world. 

“This world isn’t for the Goddess’s children or the Agarthans—it’s for you and yours.”

Dimitri stared at her and she pressed him again. “Leave,” she said firmly—like she could still tell him when he had to attend lessons and scold him—as if she hadn’t ripped that life away from him with a thoughtless decision clouded by her grief. 

“You—” Dimitri started to say as indecision crossed his face. Then he held out his hand for her.

Leto would not take it, but she smiled as hot tears slid down her face. It was the first time she’d cried in years and it was gratitude that none of what she’d done to him had truly stamped out the kindhearted, sweet boy she’d raised. 

Dimitri was still staring at her with his arm extended. Before he could press her more, a voice screamed his name from the distance and he turned immediately.

“Dimitri!” the voice beckoned again, louder this time. 

Dimitri looked back at Leto—then with no more hesitation he set his jaw and left her, following the call of whoever had reached for him.

Leto listened to the destruction outside and the whistle of the signal of the destruction yet to come. This place would be wiped clean. There’d be no trace of the horrors it had inflicted. And though her daughter would not live in it… her world would have been her own.

Leto let her eyes close and waited for the first choice she’d made without subterfuge or influence come to fruition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cleo and the kids can see the javelins of light falling on Shambhala and feel a little more secure in their decision to leave.


	42. Epilogue - An Azure Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovering at Garreg Mach, everyone reflects on what to do next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO. OKAY. Here we are I guess. Thank you for anyone who has taken this ride so far, whether you be new readers or those who were here from the beginning. This is sorta a piece of my soul cracked open at this point. I wrote a _lot_ for a fandom I had no idea I was getting into. I hope the epilogue satisfies you and thank you so much for reading!

_Byleth_

Seiros was laid to rest in the Goddess’s Holy Tomb. It was what Rhea would have wanted. Byleth didn’t know how _she_ felt about that specifically (and maybe never would), but Sothis and Seiros deserved to be reunited. And she did know her father wouldn’t have appreciated Rhea being buried near him and Byleth’s mother.

Seteth had been staring at the tomb for some time. She wondered if Sothis had been his mother too. “Seteth?”

He blinked, drawing back from his aimless stare and turned towards her. “Yes, we should… I should see if Flayn is feeling well yet.”

Byleth touched his arm and stopped him. “Cichol,” she said, getting his attention.

“Don’t abuse that,” Seteth remarked, lips quirking down in a familiar fashion. He sighed and then looked back behind them at the tomb again. “Not… here, if you would indulge me.”

There were several comments that rose to mind about indulgences, but Byleth held her tongue and walked with him back to his office. It was a better spot for this conversation anyway. The air wasn’t musty and filled with death. It was more official, all things considered.

“How much did you know?” Byleth asked, leaning against his desk in a way that she knew drove Seteth insane.

He eyed her leaning and pursed his lips, but refrained from commenting. “Some. The war took much out of me and Flayn. I came to the Monastery after your father left with you. I knew of her upset at the child missing and I knew how much she wanted her mother back, but not…”

Seteth trailed off and didn’t meet her eyes.

“No educated guesses?” Byleth asked, but she was sure her tone made it clear she was being sarcastic, because Seteth winced. She suddenly felt like she was being petty. This wasn’t what she wanted to talk about. “You said _her_ mother. Is Sothis not yours as well?”

Seteth paced towards his bookshelf, comforting himself in the familiar. “Rhea was the last of the children created directly from Her blood. The original Nabateans. I, and my brothers Macuil and Indech, were less directly connected to the progenitor god.” He turned around again, tilting his head in thought. “I suppose… the closest analogy is that she is my grandmother… or maybe an older cousin.”

Byleth snorted. “Finally we found something in common.” From what she’d learned, it seemed as if Rhea was her daughter and her grandmother at once. The strangeness of that specific detail kept her from thinking about anything else entangled in it and how she felt about it.

“You wish to speak on something,” Seteth said, as obnoxiously observant as ever. “Unrelated to this?”

“Marginally related,” Byleth said. She stared up at the ceiling. The beams had been reinforced over the years. Byleth knew every inch of Garreg Mach now—she helped rebuild it—and it had helped build her.

“And?” Seteth prompted.

Byleth dropped her head back down to face him. “I’m stepping down as Archbishop.”

“Byleth,” Seteth said, a chiding annoyance in his tone, “just because you do not have the Goddess within you, does not mean you are not well equipped for the position. You’ve done great and valuable things with your role these last years.”

Getting an unearned compliment from Seteth made Byleth feel like she was still asleep and this entire month had been a dream. She crinkled her nose at him. “Seteth, the Church is a lie.”

He frowned. “You cannot say that.”

“I can and I did,” Byleth said. “Rhea created the Church, named it after herself, which I don’t even want to start getting into—and influenced Fódlan for centuries. These people that took you couldn’t have accomplished as much as they did if the Church hadn’t helped them along. For fuck’s sake, Seteth, they implicated Christophe Gaspard in what happened at Duscur rather than admit someone was trying to kill Rhea.”

He looked away from her, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s still done much for the people of Fódlan. It is a symbol that you cannot merely snatch away. Perhaps your anger with Rhea is justified—” He ignored Byleth’s “Hah!” as if it hadn’t happened. “—but that does not mean the Church is responsible for all the ills of Fódlan. Think of all the good it's done. The good _we’ve_ done.”

“Reforms were a good first step,” Byleth said and then sighed. She leaned back on her palms, pressing them into the varnished wood. “I’m not dissolving the Church. That would be too much for everyone and I don't think it should be my say whether or not people want to continue to rely on their faith.”

Byleth would have to work on that herself, considering how badly she did trying a simple heal spell now.

Seteth turned around again, arms still crossed. His brow furrowed. “Then what are you saying? You’re stepping down… and what? Who will replace you?”

“ _You_ ,” Byleth said, rolling her eyes. Then she pushed herself off the desk and held a finger out to his taken aback expression. “For one _human_ lifetime. Then you pick a replacement who won’t live another millennium. People deserve freewill, not the illusion of it.”

She couldn’t _believe_ she had to even say that. Seteth was still frowning and clearly mulling it over when she added, “And we’re disbanding the Knights of Seiros.”

“What?”

“The Church shouldn’t have an _army_ , Seteth,” Byleth said.

Seteth flustered at her. “And you plan on telling all the well-trained loyal soldiers that they should just leave.”

“Yes,” Byleth said. “Consider it my last act before you take over. They are all well-trained, as you said. I am sure there is a place for them in the Kingdom, and if not, I can give them some tips about mercenary work.”

“Very funny,” Seteth said.

Byleth smiled at him. “So?”

Seteth sighed and rubbed his index finger between his forehead. “It is… going to be a lot of work managing this.”

“Seteth,” Byleth said, giving him a level look, “we both know you already did most of the work anyway.”

He pursed his lips and didn’t argue. “I’ll think on it.”

“That means I won the argument,” Byleth said, and smiled at him as he shot her an annoyed glare. He’d never be able to take back all the nice things he’d said and he knew it.

“Seteth?”

Byleth and Seteth both turned towards the door where Manuela was standing, looking more than a little hungover.

“They said you’d been kidnapped!” Manuela cried, a little too dramatically, and before Seteth could reply she had her arms around him and — he _let_ her.

Byleth didn’t think her eyebrows could raise any higher and also she could not watch this, so she stepped out of his office and left them to it.

“Damn it, I owe Annette ten gold.”

&

Byleth found Dimitri sitting on the steps in view of one of the gardens. She could see their children had found a second wind and were running around, driving the monks mad as per usual. She sat down next to him and leaned in when he wrapped an arm around her.

“How did it go?” he asked.

“As well as could be expected, I guess.” Byleth watched their children running on their endless energy and thought about how lucky she was to be here right now seeing it. She wondered if her own mother had pictured the same, or if Rhea…

“Are you certain you wish to step down?” Dimitri asked.

Byleth smiled and tilted her head up to make sure he saw it. “Yes. It’ll be a relief, honestly, not having to be Archbishop. I’ll be normal with no weighted responsibilities.”

Dimitri stared at her and raised an eyebrow. “You know you’re still married to the king.”

 _Fuck._ Byleth thought, because she hadn’t thought about that, and then laughed at herself. “How do you feel about abdicating?”

“The country would need to be in a much more stable position with a new form of governance readily available for transition.”

Byleth leaned back from him and stared. “You’ve thought about this.”

He nodded and then looked to where Glenn and Valya were playing. “I don’t know how feasible it is, but I’ve never thought our inheritance system put a fair value on people… and I wasn’t always sure I could continue leading, or that I’d want to place that burden on someone else.”

She knew he was looking at Glenn, but Byleth couldn’t take her eyes off him. How was it possible to love someone even more after six years?

Dimitri noticed her staring and when he turned to her, his gaze softened and he kissed her like they had all the time in the world.

“How are you feeling?” Byleth asked a little later, her legs slung over his lap and her head resting on his shoulder. “With… everything.”

Dimitri breathed out, his hand drawing little circles on her back. “I don’t know. I thought answers would settle things, but I… don’t know that they did.”

“I know what you mean,” Byleth said.

She wanted to comfort herself in what she knew to be true, but part of her was still grieving Rhea and knowing the likelihood of the Rhea doing the same if their situations were reversed was slim. An assumption over a confirmation had been less of a sting.

Byleth knew what she was and she thought she knew who she was and that should’ve been enough. It almost felt like it was. The thrum of her own heart beating in her chest was going to take her a while to get used to, but each time Byleth noticed it—she thought she felt a little more alive. A little more real.

“So,” Dimitri said, in a clear effort to change the subject. “What are you planning on doing now that you are no longer Archbishop, beloved?”

She traced her fingers over his jaw and smiled. “Grow old with you,” she said. Then as he glanced down at her warmly, she added, “Also fishing.”

Dimitri laughed and shook his head. The children were calling out now. Glenn with a more frustrated face than Valya, which was a clear indication something was broken. Dimitri and Byleth got up and went to find what trouble they’d caused, hand in hand.

_Ashe_

Ashe was pretty sure he was going to be incapable of any expression other than smiling forever. He stared at Caspar, who was dangling his fingers out and trying to lure one of their reformed thief’s kittens towards him. “I can’t believe they’re a girl and a _mom_.”

The black and white cat slunk towards Caspar and nuzzled her head against his hand, so he forgot about the kittens and settled for scratching her behind the ears and letting her continue to rub her face on him. “Does she have a name?” Caspar asked, glancing behind his shoulder at Ashe. When he met Ashe’s eyes he smiled too.

“Izzy, I think one of the kids came up with it,” Ashe said.

Caspar nodded to himself. “It’s a good name.” He turned his attention back towards her. “Do the kittens have names too?”

“Probably,” Ashe said. “It’s been a few months since I’ve been here.” The kittens were at least double the size from the last time he’d seen them.

“You come to Garreg Mach a lot?” Caspar asked.

Ashe shook his head with a wry laugh. It was so strange to be talking about normal things now, after most of their recent conversations had happened in a cell. “When I can. Mostly to see the Professor if I’m around. Habit more than anything else, I suppose.”

“We don’t come up this way much,” Caspar said. “I probably would’ve avoided it before… but—I guess it’s okay now.”

“I’m glad,” Ashe said. He looked over at the kittens and grabbed a blade of grass to lure their interest. “Seems like so much changed in such a short time.”

“Didn’t enjoy the whole getting captured part, but the rest was pretty good.” When Ashe looked back at him again Caspar was grinning.

Ashe rubbed his nose which was feeling a little flushed. “Yeah, the rest was pretty good.”

“You have to go straight back to uh… knightly duties after this?” Caspar asked. He wasn’t particularly subtle about why he was asking, but subtle wasn’t really Caspar’s speciality. It was one of the things Ashe liked most about him. He could always tell he was being honest.

“I was thinking…maybe I’d help out with you and Leonie?” Ashe said, fighting a smile at the way Caspar lit up.

“Yeah?”

Ashe nodded. “Being a knight is about helping people and it seems like that’s what you and Leonie are doing, so I can’t see anything wrong with continuing that.”

“Won’t Gaspard miss you?” Caspar asked, pretty astutely.

“Sarai can handle things,” Ashe said. His sister had been taking a lot on while Ashe went on missions for the Kingdom anyway. He had been thinking for a while she might make a better Lord of Gaspard.

Caspar leaned back to lie flat on the stone facade he was resting on. “Doesn’t sound so bad.”

“No?” Ashe asked, leaning forward as well, so he could rest his head on Caspar’s stomach. “I won’t get in your and Leonie’s way?”

“Eh, she’ll get over it,” Caspar said, then he looked at Ashe and grinned.

Izzy mewled impatiently and tried to squeeze her way in as well, rubbing against the top of Ashe’s head. Pretty good end to a mission, he thought.

_Felix_

Felix rested his head against the exterior wall of the infirmary and closed his eyes. He didn’t think he could still sleep standing up, but he must have for at least a moment, because suddenly the door was opening again.

“He’s fine,” Mercedes said, smiling to reassure him. “He should rest,” she added, and directed that partially through the door at Sylvain. Felix couldn’t see whatever his reaction had been, but it made Mercedes smile wider before she turned her attention back to Felix. “As long as he takes it easy for the next week or so, I don’t think there’ll be any lasting damage.”

Physically. Felix tried to be grateful for that much, but now that he wasn’t fighting he kept going back to that singular moment where he hadn’t been sure if Sylvain was…

“Are you all right?” Mercedes asked, frowning in concern.

“I didn’t get injured,” Felix said.

“That isn’t what I asked.” Mercedes eyes were a little too sharp.

Felix closed his eyes again, rubbing his thumb and finger over the bridge of his nose. “I’m tired,” he said. “It’ll pass.”

When he opened his eyes again, Mercedes looked skeptical, but she had too many other patients to check on to press the issue, which was one relief. Felix took longer than he liked before opening the door again to check on Sylvain.

His husband was lying casually on the medical cot, just like he’d done all of the other times he’d been injured, with a careless smile. “Mercie said the marks’ll fade,” Sylvain said. “I think they already did a bit.” He looked at his arm, squinting at it as if he could see a difference from hours earlier. “Not really a design I would have picked out myself—not to mention the color doesn’t look great with Gautier Red—so glad I don’t have to try and make it work.”

Felix clenched his jaw. There wasn’t anyone to fight or punish or throw anger towards, because that entire place had been decimated. He should have felt satisfied by that.

“She also said you should rest,” Felix said. His voice must have come out sharper than he meant it to, because Sylvain’s careless smile faded.

He looked at Felix with what Felix thought was concern until he spoke. “What do I have to do to make you not pissed at me for getting kidnapped?”

There was a targeted pressure on Felix’s chest; it dug deep between his ribcage. Sylvain had been through days of whatever that place had done, he was still carrying the marks of it—whether or not they’d fade and it had drained his energy so badly that he could barely walk before. And after all of that, all he could assume was that Felix was only a gaping chasm of rage, so of course he was _angry_ at him.

“I’m not—” Felix cut himself off. He couldn’t blame Sylvain for thinking that. Why wouldn’t he think that? Felix still felt like a tensed line ready to snap and he’d _yelled_ at him when they’d found him. It didn’t matter if he was being an idiot. Felix shouldn’t have—

“I’m not angry,” Felix said, slowly.

Sylvain raised an eyebrow at him and gave a disbelieving scoff. “You haven’t come within ten feet of me since we escaped the vampire lair.”

“Can you stop—” Felix trailed off again. He tugged on his own hair. “Does everything have to be a joke?”

“No,” Sylvain said. He frowned thoughtfully. “Is that why you’re pissed?”

“I’m _not_ pissed!” Felix snapped. His voice was too sharp and too loud for the infirmary. Undoubtedly the other patients could hear him. Felix scraped his palms over his face, trying to drive the sleep from his eyes and focus on something other than the tight pressure in his chest that refused to ease up. He tried again, slower this time. “I’m not—” Maybe he was, but it wasn't at Sylvain. Why— “Why are we even married if you think I’m going to be angry at _you_ for getting captured?”

“Felix…” Sylvain’s eyebrows had gone through a variety of stages on his face up and down and then he moved like he was going to stand up.

“Mercedes said you need rest,” Felix said, sharply. There was still a bite to his words, but this time he didn’t care.

Sylvain drew the leg that had almost slid off the cot back up again and settled into an upright position. “Very restful getting yelled at,” he muttered, and Felix pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I’m going to—I’ll get you something to eat,” Felix said, and turned towards the door, leaving before Sylvain could get anything out but a strangled protest.

Sylvain needed to sleep. Maybe he’d be sleeping by the time Felix got back.

The Dining Hall was unsurprisingly crowded, but Felix was able to get food that looked… edible. There was sugared something on one of the pastries so he picked that up and set off with the rest of the plate.

His walk back to the infirmary was slow; he was stretching it out as long as possible. Maybe if Sylvain was sleeping he could drop the food off and then wait outside again. It was easier that way and then Felix wouldn’t… yell at him.

Sylvain wasn’t asleep when he got back, of course. He also didn’t look like he’d been resting. He was tapping his fingers against his leg with restless energy and then when he noticed Felix enter the room he looked even more upset.

Felix decided to hand him the food and leave so he wouldn’t make it worse. He didn’t even look at him as he held the plate out, which was how he missed Sylvain’s hand grabbing at his arm. The pressure in his chest pushed past his ribs and into his spine, making it painful to breathe. Felix clenched his free hand’s fist hard enough to feel the crescents of his nails in his palm.

“Felix,” Sylvain said. “I get you’re upset… I don’t think I’ve figured out _why_ or what I did to make you upset, but you can’t—you can’t say shit like that.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Felix said. He managed his voice to be lower this time, but it still felt rough to his own ears.

“I must’ve done something if you’re questioning us being married,” Sylvain said, his grip on Felix’s arm tightening almost painfully as he said it.

Felix looked up at the beams on the ceiling. He stared at the rivets in the wood. He wondered if he was someone else or even the version of himself he barely remembered from before Glenn died, if he’d have emotional capacity to go to Sylvain, reassure him that everything was fine, and actually be the person he needed…

“You don’t think you’d be happier with someone who doesn’t yell at you while you’re in the infirmary?” Felix asked.

“No,” Sylvain answered immediately, because of course he did. “Felix, please look at me.”

With effort, Felix drew his gaze from the ceiling and turned so he was facing Sylvain. He kept his gaze somewhere around Sylvain’s knees, since that was easier.

“Stop hovering and sit,” Sylvain said, tugging on Felix’s arm until he listened and sat on the very edge of the cot.

Sylvain sounded like he was trying to calm one of his horses. “I’m _okay_. Mercedes said clean bill of health and I’m sure I can find a way to make this a funny story in a month or two. No emotional trauma but the usual.” There was undoubtedly that self-deprecating smile on his face after that, but Felix couldn’t look at it.

“Stop brushing it off,” Felix said. “You shouldn’t be doing that to try and comfort me, you were the one who—” The words he wanted to say cut off, because verbalizing them wasn’t… “I’m not upset with you. No one’s upset with you.”

“Fine,” Sylvain said, slight irritation cutting through the softness of his tone. “You’re still upset. Forgive me for giving a shit.”

Felix leaned his head forward glaring at the floor. “I’m… sorry. That’s—” He closed his eyes and pressed his fist to his forehead, resting his weight on the elbow pushing on his thigh.

Sylvain breathed out and then shifted on the bed. He didn’t say anything for once, but his hand stayed on Felix’s arm, even through the sounds of him picking at the plate on his lap. Felix stayed there in the silence only broken by the sounds of chewing and Sylvain’s breathing.

There was a light clink of the plate being set down on the end table. Then Sylvain’s thumb brushed down the inside of Felix’s forearm, down to his wrist.

“Is it the fight we had before I left?” Sylvain asked.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Felix said, tiredly. He was so tired. “It’s me.”

“What’s you?”

Felix dropped his fist from his head, letting it drop to his thigh with a slap. He looked up at the wall across from them, filled with medical texts, vulneraries, bandages, and other infirmary supplies.

“I don’t know why you put up with it,” Felix said. “I’m never anything but irritated or angry.”

“That’s not true,” Sylvain said.

“Yes, it is.” Felix didn’t need to be placated. “I know what I’m like, especially compared to other people… to _you_. I know I’m the unfeeling Duke who can’t tolerate anyone or process an emotion beyond being pissed off.” He scoffed. “All I feel is angry.”

Of the reactions Felix could have expected, Sylvain laughing wasn’t one of them. He finally turned to look at him. Sylvain took a second to steady himself, wiping mirth tears from his face with the back of his freehand. “Baby, that is by far the stupidest thing you have ever said.”

Felix frowned at him, but Sylvain dropped his grip on Felix’s arm and used that hand to gently direct Felix’s chin so he was making eye contact. “Felix,” Sylvain said. “I have literally never met anyone who feels as much as you do. Fuck, if _I_ cared half as much as you do all the time about everyone, I’d be pissed all the time too. I know you,” he said, emphasizing the last word with a brush of his fingers over Felix’s jaw. “You get angry when you get overwhelmed. It’s like it replaced being weepy when you were a kid. That thing in Halmid? You saved that kid’s life, but because he got injured you didn’t think you did a good enough job. Dimitri has like seven people on him at all times trying to get him to work less. You are one of two people who actually accomplishes it—and frankly I am happy you bully him instead of using the Professor’s methods.”

Felix frowned at him. “That’s not—”

Sylvain didn’t let him finish and responded by cupping the other side of Felix’s face and pulling him closer, so their foreheads were touching. “You’re upset now because I was stupid enough to get hurt, right?”

“You didn’t just get hurt!” Felix said, dragging his face away from Sylvain’s grip and clenching his jaw. “I thought you were dead.”

The ease and humor left Sylvain’s face immediately and Felix wished he hadn’t said anything. He tried to push an apology out of his throat—Sylvain shouldn’t have been worrying about this—but Sylvain wrapped his arms around Felix and pulled him down against his chest. Felix froze, going stiff at the gesture, but then Sylvain cradled the back of his head and murmured words softly into the crown.

“I’m here. I’m okay. I’m sorry I made you worry like that. I have no intention of breaking our promise—we’re going to live together until we’re wrinkled with jowls and can go out with held hands or something equally trite.”

Felix wanted to tell him to stop apologizing, but his eyes stung and all he could do was choke on a weak sob as he tightened his fingers into the fabric of Sylvain’s shirt. Sylvain kept cradling his head, whispering nonsense reassurance to Felix’s temple as he fractured into a crying mess.

“I can’t lose you too,” Felix said, his voice strangling him as he buried his face in Sylvain’s chest.

“You won’t,” Sylvain said, holding him tighter. “I promise.”

They stayed like that for a while—silent, minus Sylvain’s insistence that Felix actually get on the bed properly and the readjusting that left Felix pillowing himself entirely on Sylvain. Felix closed his eyes and listened to the steady cadence of Sylvain’s pulse. Sylvain kept cradling his head and threaded the fingers of his other through Felix’s closest hand.

“We should go back to the Fyrir Sævar cabin,” Sylvain said quietly. “I think we’ve earned an actual break.”

Felix listened for two more beats and then said, “Alright.”

Sylvain made a pleased noise at that assent. “Maybe even a long vacation. Like an entire month.”

“Okay.”

Sylvain hummed. “Are you feeling so guilty right now you’ll agree to anything?”

Felix didn’t respond for a second and then mumbled, “Probably.”

Sylvain chuckled and then started to undo the tie that was holding Felix’s hair up. “I’ll try not to take advantage of that.” He ran his fingers through Felix’s hair, stroking against the back of his neck with each pass.

Then, “Unless you’re willing to have sex in the infirmary.”

Felix barely felt the whisper of the laugh that escaped him. “That’s not resting.”

“I’m willing to let you get on top and do all the work,” Sylvain offered. When Felix tilted his head to look up at him his grin was shameless. Looking at it felt a little like relief.

_Ingrid_

Dorothea was putting her hair up. There was so much of it that the slope of her neck was only exposed for as long as she had it lifted, before the rest of the brown tresses floated down in the ponytail.

Ingrid refrained from staring too long and went back to telling Osahar about the puzzle she’d solved up on the cliff-side. He insisted she draw it out for him in the dirt and so they’d ended up making a game of seeing if she could remember all of it and seeing if he could figure out how to put it together.

“You know,” Dorothea said, coming over. “I didn’t ever wish to know whether watching seven children was more tiring than attending a battalion of injured soldiers, but I can say for a fact—it is.”

“Five is enough,” Osahar said wisely. “It is a good number.”

“Agreed,” Dorothea said and swooped down to kiss the crown of his head. He made a face like he didn’t enjoy it, but also didn’t move away. “Would you be a dear and go fetch some treats from the Dining Hall?” she asked.

Osahar nodded and lifted himself up, then hesitated. “I can have some?”

Dorothea laughed. “Yes, but you’ll have to share with your siblings. I’d also like some as well.”

He gave them a rare toothy smile and then headed in the direction of the Dining Hall. Dorothea let out an exhausted groan and sat down next to Ingrid before flopping dramatically onto her lap so that her head was pillowed by it. “I’m _delighted_ none of our children have crests.”

Ingrid snorted. “Not a commonly held opinion, Lady Galatea.”

“Valya is a _terror_ ,” Dorothea said. “I had no idea how much. I don’t know how they deal with it.”

“She’s very cute,” Ingrid said diplomatically.

Dorothea did nod at that, unable to argue. “Reminds me, I should find Gen and inform her of Glenn’s very detailed plans on proposing. She should be prepared if the crown prince is going to put in a bid.”

“You didn’t encourage that, did you?”

Dorothea’s smile was a little wicked around the edges. “He was so darling talking about it, what I was supposed to do? Crush young love? I could never.”

“You do know you’re leaving me with all the fallout of this,” Ingrid said, leaning forward so that her nose was nearly touching her wife’s. “You get to go back to the comfort of home, but I’m easily accessible when His Majesty finds out.”

Dorothea flicked Ingrid’s nose. “I wish you were less so.”

“What?” Ingrid asked, pulling back to sitting properly.

Dorothea covered her hands with her face. “I didn’t mean that, I’m exhausted. I’m sorry. I know you love being a knight, only…” She peeked through her hands. “I was so worried, Ingrid. It felt like the war all over again.”

Ingrid gently took her hands completely away from her face and held one of them. “Do you feel that way often?”

“Not… often,” Dorothea said, then sighed. “Sometimes.”

Ingrid stared at Dorothea. She was a marvel, who’d charmed Ingrid’s father and brothers, and had put Ingrid’s household management skills to shame once she’d taken up the role. She’d eased perfectly into the life of a Lady and never complained about Ingrid’s absences. This month without her had been awful.

“I could talk to His Majesty,” Ingrid said. “Perhaps spend less time with active knightly duties and more time in Galatea.”

“Oh Ingrid, no,” Dorothea said, “I didn’t mean to pressure you. I wouldn’t want you to give up your dream.”

Ingrid smiled. “You’re not. My father’s been very unsubtle in his urge to retire and have me take over as Countess. I wouldn’t mind splitting my time a bit more in favor of my family and my home.”

Dorothea’s eyes were glassy and she squeezed the hand Ingrid was holding. “I want to pull you into a dramatic sweeping kiss but I am so tired I can’t move.”

Ingrid laughed and leaned down, bending awkwardly so she could at least provide the kiss part.

_Mercedes_

It had been some time since Mercedes had made herself acquainted with the Garreg Mach healing facilities, but it was muscle memory in the end. The day had stretched long by the time she had to take a break and recover her energy. The most severe injuries had been taken care of, and the rest were being seen to. No one that had come here had died. She was proud of that much.

Mercedes made her way to the Dining Hall and a familiar smell assaulted her nose. The scent of Fritz’s teacakes. She simply couldn’t believe it until she saw the spiraled cakes on some of the tables. She picked one up and bit into it. It was as if she was nine years old again, sharing treats with Emile.

Mercedes made her way to the kitchens, wondering if she’d see the only person who could have made these, but it was a few staff she hadn’t met and Dedue. “You should be resting,” Mercedes chided. She’d already lectured Dimitri and Ingrid about this; she didn’t think she’d need to lecture her husband.

“I find cooking relaxing,” Dedue said. He gently kissed her forehead before going back to sorting the vegetables he’d been preparing. “There will be many to feed once they’ve recovered.”

She couldn’t argue with that. She tore off another piece of teacake, watching as the cinnamon sugar scattered around her fingers and onto the ground. “Was Genna—Gen here?”

Dedue nodded. “She helped me earlier, but… her baking is better than her cooking.”

“Oh no,” Mercedes said, covering her mouth so he wouldn’t see her laugh. She failed and he looked over at her with a wry eye. “You’re such a perfectionist about the kitchen.”

“It is difficult not to be,” Dedue said. He’d finished putting vegetables in the stockpot and went over everything methodically. Once he was satisfied it was settled he came to her and wrapped her in an embrace. She leaned into him, enjoying the mix of smells from the kitchen that seemed to seep into his clothes and skin.

“Everyone seems very shaken,” Mercedes said, softly.

“It was… an unfortunate place,” Dedue said. “Dimitri believes they may have had a large part to play in the Tragedy of Duscur, but he had trouble speaking on specifics and I did not feel the need to press.”

“That’s nice of you,” Mercedes said.

“Mercedes,” Dedue said, his voice rumbled out of his chest and onto the cheek she had resting on it. “You can go find her if you like. She mentioned getting fresh air.”

Mercedes lifted her head and rested her chin on his chest to look up at him. “That’s also nice of you. Are you sure you don’t want some help?”

He shook his head and smiled down at her. “I am content and the work is mostly done.”

She pushed herself up onto her tiptoes to give him a proper kiss before she left the Dining Hall. He probably tasted like cinnamon now. Mercedes attempted a sweep of the Monastery but even asking after Genna, she didn’t find any leads. Failing in her search, her feet took her automatically across the bridge leading to the Cathedral.

It had been even longer since she’d been here. She and Dorothea had been too busy with the children for Mercedes to make her usual pilgrimage. Completely restored to its former brilliance, the Cathedral was unsurprisingly filled with people. Seeing what they saw, Mercedes couldn’t blame them for taking a little comfort in the Goddess.

She spotted Genna in one of the more empty pews. “Do you mind if I join you?”

Genna looked up at her and shook her head. She didn’t say anything as Mercedes sat down next to her, but she also didn’t seem like she was praying. She was merely staring up at the image of Seiros spun into the glass fixtures next to the image of the Goddess they’d added at Byleth’s request.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been to a place like this,” Genna said, finally. “I don’t… really pray anymore.”

“That’s understandable, considering what you went through,” Mercedes said. People had lost their faith for less. “What made you come today?”

Genna’s lips turned up slightly. “Seeing the place that tormented me destroyed by giant javelins of light descending from the heavens feels like divine intervention, so I figured I owed it to Her.”

“Mm, I doubt the Goddess gets thank you prayers as often as asking for things,” Mercedes said. “I’m sure She will appreciate it.”

“I haven’t yet,” Genna said, tapping her fingers against the edge of the pew. “I’m not sure I remember how. The last time I…”

Mercedes didn’t make her finish. “I’d like to thank _you_ for making the teacakes.” She smiled as Genna turned to look at her. “I’ve been attempting to duplicate that recipe for years without success. I can never find the right tea.”

“He didn’t use any,” Genna said. “Only a spice mixture to imitate the flavor of it.”

“I’ve tried that too. They’re still not as good.”

Genna’s laugh was soft. “How much butter are you using? Whatever it is, double it. Papa’s _secret_ was always more butter than was necessary.”

“No wonder Emile’s trousers stopped fitting after—” She cut herself off immediately. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

Genna waved her off, but she also looked away again. Her voice was quiet when she finally spoke again. “I still remember an Emile I liked too. It’s difficult to think of him as the same person who… who did that.”

Mercedes nodded, she suddenly found the ground interesting. She tried not to think of Emile too often, but something about talking to someone who knew him—not the Death Knight, but _him_ —was overwhelming her in a way she didn’t expect. There was a lump in her throat and she was afraid there’d soon be tears.

Genna glanced back at her briefly and then reached for her hand. Mercedes held it tightly and they stayed like that silently for a moment or two, while Mercedes recovered herself. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m so happy you’re here, Genna—I mean Gen.”

“You can call me Genna,” Genna said. The tension in her shoulders and face suddenly disappeared as she smiled. “There’s no one looking for me anymore.”

Mercedes smiled back and squeezed her hand. “Do you think you’ll go somewhere else now?”

Genna seemed to consider that for a moment and then shook her head. “No, but I do like having the option.”

“That’s very good,” Mercedes said. She felt lighter than she had in weeks. “Glenn would certainly be upset if his fiancée disappeared.”

Genna’s responding laugh was loud enough that they (quite fairly) got shushed by the other churchgoers.

_Leonie_

Leonie continued to need a drink, but they were at a school run by the Church, so she didn’t hold out hope of having one any time soon. This time it wasn’t even entirely for her. It had been a while since she’d been back to Garreg Mach and she wanted to share a drink with her mentor.

Jeralt’s grave was unsurprisingly well-kept. Leonie almost wanted there to be weeds or something so she’d have an excuse to clean up. She was never sure what to do standing in front of gravestones.

Leonie soon heard the soft pad of footsteps in the grass behind her, too heavy to be one of the monastery cats. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Byleth who gave her a tight, awkward smile before walking over.

“Hey,” Leonie said, for want of anything better.

Byleth nodded and her gaze drifted to the gravestone. There were two names on it, but Leonie didn’t really know anything about Sitri Eisner. “Felt weird to bury Rhea and not come here and check on them.”

“Sorry,” Leonie said. “About Lady Rhea. I know you two were…”

Byleth snorted as Leonie trailed off. “Yeah, don’t worry. I can’t ever finish that sentence either.” Her smile looked kind of wistful as she stared down at the gravestone. Then she looked up at Leonie. “I’m sorry about your crew.”

Theo, Tom, Axel, Bert, Josie, and Jules. Not to mention maybe Jack.

Leonie balled her hands into fists and then set those fists on her hips. “Yeah. Thanks.”

They drifted into an awkward silence again, before Byleth broke it.

“I actually—I wanted to… um,” Byleth started and then frowned. “I thought that I’d—uh…”

“Stop being weird and just say it,” Leonie said. She hadn’t meant to be that sharp about it, but she couldn’t stand wasting time on niceties instead of being honest.

Byleth didn’t seem to take it personal. She smiled again, but it seemed sincere. “I wanted to say thank you. For taking care of Ashe and Sylvain and for stepping up like that when I was… having an ill-timed existential crisis.”

Leonie shrugged off the praise. “How’s that going?”

Byleth made a face. “Honestly. No idea. Probably going to take a while to adjust.”

“Easier to do without people trying to kill you,” Leonie said and smiled back when Byleth did.

They went silent again, but it was a little more comfortable this time. The weather was nice for such a strange time and it was comforting not to be standing alone right now.

“I’m sorry about Gronder,” Leonie said. Incapable of keeping it in, when she was staring right at Jeralt’s name.

Byleth looked surprised and a little confused. “Why?”

“Jeralt told me to watch out for you,” Leonie said. “I didn’t exactly do that when we were fighting against each other. I’ve… felt bad about it since.”

Byleth’s smile was soft and unexpected, so were her next words. “He told me to look out for you too.”

Leonie wasn’t sure why she was surprised. Jeralt was like that, but she felt warmed up on the inside. “We’re both doing a terrible job then.”

Byleth fought a smile. “Guess so.” She reached out, a little awkwardly and then patted Leonie on the arm, less awkwardly. “If your work ever takes you up through Fhirdiad, I wouldn’t mind if you swung by, told me what you were up to—so we could get better at it.”

“That sounds great,” Leonie said. She meant it.

&

There wasn’t much of a reason to stick around Garreg Mach, but Leonie still didn’t completely feel like leaving and wasn’t sure why. She found herself walking the old Academy grounds, taking in all the changes, and all the things that were the same. She ended up running into a few of the old Golden Deer, which was nice. Usually she only did that if Hilda made special arrangements.

It was around the time she made it to the stables that she saw the unexpected: her stallion and Sylvain’s mare already stabled. Leonie went right up to Jack and checked him over, trying not to do something crazy like cry. The relief that shot through her system completely woke her up and she realized someone would’ve had to have brought the horses in.

Leonie didn’t have to go far before she found them. Josie and Axel were talking to a monk who had a frown of confusion as they gesticulated at him. Leonie called out to them and then they turned around, relief on their face matching her own inside.

She grasped both their arms at once, feeling them to make sure they were real. “How are—how’d you get here?”

“Horses,” Axel said.

Josie rolled her eyes at him. “You always said if stuff wasn't safe to head to Garreg Mach, so we… didn’t know where else to go when everything happened.”

Leonie’s hands didn’t drop from their arms, but her stomach dropped into her boots. “How much do you know?”

“All of it,” Axel said. He’d grown up with Bert and he and Jules were pretty close. Leonie couldn’t even imagine what he’d gone through if there’d been a body left in that glade.

“We ran into Caspar first,” Josie added.

“I’m sorry,” Leonie said. “I should’ve—”

“Cut the shit, boss,” Josie said. “We’re happy _you’re_ alive. The fuck do Axel and I know how about running a crew? Who’s going to lead us? Caspar?”

Axel nodded his agreement. “Don’t be sorry. We know you did your best and fought your hardest for them. It’s… well it sucks ass, but it is what it is.”

Leonie desperately tried not to tear up, she’d never hear the end of it if she did. “Yeah. It does suck ass. They deserved better.”

They deserved gravestones people could visit. Even if the bodies weren’t there. Leonie would have to think of the best place to put them.

She still needed a drink, but now she had a crew left to get one with.

_Annette_

“You are fussing worse than my father,” Flayn said, settling herself better on the bench. Annette had brought her a blanket and some tea, but none of it felt like it was alleviating the weariness from Flayn’s shoulders or the guilt from Annette’s heart.

“I’m—”

“Do not apologize again,” Flayn said. She huffed a laugh, but it was tired too. She stared at her half empty teacup. “I keep being told I need rest, but I’m worried if I do I will fall asleep again and wake up without… anyone I care about still here.”

“I’ll clang pots and pans together if you’re asleep for more than ten hours,” Annette offered.

Flayn smiled a little, but it was clearly forced.

“Do you want some more tea?” Annette asked. “I could get some fish from the Dining Hall too.”

Flayn did perk up slightly at the last one. “I suppose fish would be all right.”

Annette stood up and resisted saluting. “I’m on it!”

When she got to the Dining Hall she saw Mercie, Gen, and Dorothea sitting together at one of the tables and had a brilliant idea. This would _definitely_ lift Flayn’s spirits.

“Oh there you are, Annie,” Mercie said, smiling up at her. “I was wondering where you’d gotten off to.”

“You and Dorothea were both in the infirmary way longer than me,” Annette said. Felix had made her check on Sylvain, only to find out that he’d also already hassled one of Holst’s healers, Mercie, and Dorothea to do the same before her. “Gen!” she said cheerfully.

Gen narrowed her eyes at her, a little too suspiciously, Annette thought. “Yes?”

Annette bit her lip. “Do you know the _Ballad of Saint Cethleann_?”

Gen blinked at her. “The Enbarr Variant, the original, or the Imperial Year 1101 revision?”

Annette blinked back at her. She had no clue there were three and she was kind of dating Saint Cethleann. “The original, I guess… um, can you play it on a lute?”

“Probably,” Gen said.

Dorothea snorted loudly. “Stop being modest.” She leaned back in her seat. “Gen knows and can play anything. It’s insane.”

“Don’t exaggerate,” Gen said.

“Do you know _The Edge of Dawn_?” Annette asked. Gen nodded.

“What about _Siren of the Sea_?” Mercie asked joining in. Gen nodded again.

Annette was getting distracted, but she couldn’t help it. “ _Kryphon’s Lament_?” Another nod. “ _Tundra Wild_?” And another nod. “What about _Emblem of Fire_?”

Gen frowned, her mouth twisting. “No, I haven’t heard of that one. Who's the composer?”

“No one, I made it up,” Annette said and Dorothea and Mercie laughed. “Anyway—would you be willing to help? I want to… do something to lift everyone’s spirits and music’s a great way for that!”

“What about me?” Dorothea asked, offended.

“You too—and Manuela, if she’s not still busy.” Annette couldn’t help the smug smile at being ten gold richer for that fact. “Courtyard, ten minutes? What instruments do you think you could play? I have a lute and can get a lyre but there’s some spare instruments for choral rehearsals too.”

Gen opened her mouth and then Dorothea waved her off. “Anything, grab whatever, she can play it.”

“Don’t _exaggerate,_ ” Gen said again, a little flustered. Dorothea preened at her.

“Mercie,” Annie added. “Would you be able to deliver some food to Flayn? She’s over by the gazebo.”

“Of course, Annie—fish?” she guessed correctly and smiled wider when Annette nodded.

It took a bit longer than a half hour to get everything together. The small impromptu concert venue had filled more than she’d expected in that time. Flayn was eyeing her skeptically, but Annette just smiled and they stepped up to start.

Manuela was still a bit hungover so she sat in the crowd, pouting, but Gen picked up a fiddle (while Annette fiddled with her lute), and Dorothea and Hilda came to provide some background acoustics for the choruses. Dorothea could, apparently, play the lyre and Hilda picked up a pair of bells to shake, but then put them back saying they were making her wrist sore.

It was a lot easier to focus on Flayn than anyone else, because Annette didn’t think this many people would show up, especially this last minute, but the opening bars to the song picked up behind her and she took a deep breath and sang:

The Ballad of Saint Cethleann

_‘O where to ever she’ll fly like the dawn—_

_bringing the sea and a smile along._

_She hears our whispered wishes and fears_

_and sweeps them aside for the following year—_

_Saint Cethleann—_

_Her grace, her beauty, her glory—_

_Saint Cethleann—_

_Devoted, and pious, her stories._

_Saint Cethleann—_

_Her grace, her beauty, her smile._

_Saint Cethleann—_

_Pray she stays more than a while._

_We pray she stays more than—_

_A while.’_

Once they’d finished, the loud clapping made Annette’s face warm up, but it was worth it for how overjoyed Flayn looked. Annette held her gaze feeling her insides warm up too. Flayn seemed to mouth ‘thank you’ but before Annette could do anything else, there was an interruption.

“Hey, can we do requests?” Claude asked—she had _not_ noticed he’d been lounging there. “Because I’d love to hear the Creepity Creep song. It’s been a while and it’s a classic.”

“I want to hear the Library Boom song,” Felix added, because they were both EVIL.

“Oooh,” Claude said, leaning up from his sprawled position on the grass. “Haven’t heard that one before. Sounds like it's got some deep, rich symbolism and history.”

“You’re both jerks!” Annette said, feeling embarrassment start to overwhelm her. It didn’t help that now Flayn was laughing—badly trying to cover it with her hand. Annette wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

Someone nudged her from behind and when Annette turned it was Gen with her elbow in Annette’s shoulder. “Three or four bars?”

Annette huffed. “Four. I guess. Why?”

“Sing it and don’t give them the satisfaction of thinking they bothered you,” Gen said.

Hilda picked up her bells with a defiant. “Yeah!”

Dorothea merely looked amused but waved Annette on. Annette let out a breath and then sighed. “Okay fine! We’ll do the Parchment Fire song.”

She started hesitantly, but soon after the fiddle joined in and then Annette started doing what she could with her lute. It started to actually sound like a song and, even though Claude and Felix looked far too pleased with themselves, they were also shutting up so Annette counted that as a victory.

That and Flayn was still watching, looking a lot more like herself.

_Claude_

“Enjoying the view, leader man?” Hilda asked, coming next to him where he was leaning against the railing of the bridge. The entirety of Garreg Mach and the surrounding villages spread out in front of him. It made him itch to get back on Eira.

“Been a while since I’ve seen it,” Claude said, breezily.

Hilda snorted and then hopped up so she was sitting on the railing, looking down at him. “I’ve got to do like ten dinners with my brother in a row now thanks to you.”

Claude smiled. “Terribly sorry for the inconvenience.” He laughed when she swatted at his shoulder and then caught her hand and looked up at her. “Seriously, Hil. I’m sorry.”

Hilda stared down at him, lips pursed, but she didn’t pull her hand back. “You staying in Fódlan?”

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Claude said. “For a little bit probably, but I…” He laughed again, at himself. “I think I need to finish what I started.”

“Almyra then,” Hilda guessed correctly. She sighed dramatically and kicked her legs out into the air. “Not _so_ far from Goneril that a letter couldn’t fly my way now and again to see if you’re doing okay.”

“How about _I_ fly your way now and again?” Claude suggested and was glad for it, at the way her entire face softened and she squeezed his hand. “I missed you guys,” Claude admitted.

“Duh,” Hilda said, because she was Hilda. Then she jumped off the railing, landing gracefully on her feet. “I’m holding you to that,” she said, lifting up on her tiptoes so she was almost eye level with him. “I don’t want to start organizing reunion dinners and then have an extra plate with no one to eat on. That’s _so_ much effort wasted.”

He was still holding her hand. It was tempting not to let go, or to tug a little until he could wrap his arms around her, but they were past that. “Wouldn’t want to put too much work in.”

“Exactly,” Hilda said. She let go first and spun around gracefully, retreating down the bridge. She stopped towards the end of it and spun back around again to face him. Her hands cupped her mouth as she yelled, “And don’t leave without saying goodbye! This doesn’t count.”

Claude laughed again and waved at her. He hadn’t been planning on it.

&

Linhardt was commandeering one of his favorite nap spots, right behind the Knights Hall. He, even for Linhardt, looked exhausted. Claude sat next to him, debating if waking him up for the food he brought was worth it or not.

Lin cracked an eye open at him, indicating he was awake anyway. “There was a lot of blood.”

“I know,” Claude said, handing him the plate he’d snagged from the kitchens.

Linhardt took it and set it down next to him with disinterest. “No, I mean now—healing. I forgot how much there is of it.”

“Sweet of you to volunteer anyway,” Claude said, pressing his arm against Lin’s. “I’m sure they appreciated the help.”

“Mm,” Linhardt said, tiredly. He rested his head on Claude’s shoulder. Had to be awkward at that angle, but he seemed comfortable enough. “I like traveling with you, but I don’t think much more of it is in my future if all of your plans involve that much almost dying.”

“Would’ve been actually dying if you hadn’t figured out how to shut those shields down,” Claude said. He was still incredibly impressed. And… “So, let’s say my next move involved warmer weather and nice beaches to nap on? Any interest in that?”

Linhardt lifted his head and looked at Claude with an appraising eye. “Are you asking me to go to Almyra?”

“If you want,” Claude said. “I’ve got business to attend to there and I’d love to show you around. It’s not quite the barbarian hotspot that Fódlan makes it out to be.”

“Will they get fussy if I want to study their technology?” Linhardt asked.

That wasn’t a no, which made Claude smile—also picturing any of his family as _fussy_ made the smile turn into a grin. “I think they can handle one nosy foreigner.”

“Beaches and naps, huh?” Linhardt asked.

“Big libraries too,” Claude said. “You’d have to learn to read Almyran, but there’s some good stuff there.”

Linhardt yawned. “Sounds like a plan then.”

Sounded like a pretty good one to Claude too. He hassled Linhardt into eating a little before he completely passed out and after a minute or two of listening to Lin snore, Claude took advantage of the opportunity to get a nap in himself.

&

“You surprise me, Teach,” Claude said. He heard Teach laugh as she realized he’d correctly guessed she was the one walking up behind him.

She moved into view. “Why is that?”

“Stepping down as Archbishop. Wasn’t expecting that one, I have to say.”

She shrugged and her lips twitched. “Yeah, someone may have mentioned that my values and the Church’s goals might not have aligned. Took it into consideration.”

“I’m honored,” Claude said. “To think I could have shifted the power in Fódlan all this time, if I’d only talked more.”

Teach rolled her eyes. “I don’t think that’s your problem.”

“What is my problem?” he asked and immediately regretted it with the way she was looking at him. “Actually, don’t tell me—do tell me more about the whole no more Goddess inhabiting you thing though.”

“I don’t know more than I already said,” Teach said with a shrug. “I think I’m normal now.”

“Mm, yeah, I don’t know if I could go that far,” Claude said.

The wind picked up. There was starting to be a chill in the air. He wouldn’t mind being home for the winter. Home. Huh, there was a thought.

“You still owe me a Claude secret,” Teach said. At his raised eyebrow, she added, “I figured out what your dream was so that doesn’t count.”

“You cheated, with divine time memory…” He looked her over. “How much of that stuck?”

Teach brushed her boot against the grass and sighed. “More and less than I want.” She stared down at her boot for a second and then looked back up at him. “Thanks for coming back.”

“I’m not that horrible of a person,” Claude said.

“You know what I mean,” Teach said. Strangely he did. “Thanks for having my back.”

“Only returning the favor, Friend.” He liked the way she smiled when he said that. It felt different and unfamiliar, trusting someone. It felt like Claude might have opened the floodgates to trusting even more people—which was kind of terrifying.

But he’d never have gotten on a wyvern’s back if he was afraid of taking a risk.

Claude gestured for her to come closer. Teach gave him a confused look, but then Claude leaned in and whispered his ‘Claude Secret’ into her ear. His actual name.

Teach looked elated. A little too much in his opinion. “Can I call you that?”

Claude snorted. “Only in Almyra.”

Teach smiled, wider than he’d seen before. “Deal.”

Panic, terror, and relief flooded through his system. If this was what it was like opening up, he both hated and loved it. “Almyran dances are a little less stuffy than what you Fódlaners get up to.”

Not that either of them figuratively or literally had ever danced in any typical Fódlan style.

Byleth’s smile and eyes softened. She looked so much like when he’d first met her and yet nothing like it at all. “You’ll have to save me a dance then,” she said.

Claude bowed his head. “I’ll always keep a spot on my dance card clear for you, Byleth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> later, considering the brigid incident, byleth and dimitri both agree he probably shouldn't come with her to visit almyra in the summer (she tries to pitch the idea of instead skipping fhirdiad winter all together, but is once again vetoed) 
> 
> also later, hilda catches marianne trying to sneak another kitten into her bag to take back to the school
> 
> even more later, linhardt thinks claude probably should have mentioned he was the _prince_ of almyra before inviting him, but claude shrugs and says he wanted to see if he could figure it out, which ends up being an acceptable answer
> 
> if you've enjoyed this fic please consider sharing the [promo tweet](https://twitter.com/waffle_fancy/status/1322000614109274112?s=20) on twitter!

**Author's Note:**

> an azure dawn 'series' is more of a collection, but i'm too stupid to figure out how to actually create a collection -- they're all standalones but exist in the same timeline


End file.
